As You See Me
by Navel of the Turtle Man
Summary: Dark Naruto AU Previously known as "You'll be the first to go." Naruto will not let the world destroy him, even if that means destroying the world first.
1. That Which Lurks in me

I have always felt it.

I have always felt it. Lurking in the back of my mind. Waiting, just waiting, to break free, rip itself from its confines and take everything from me. Wreaking havoc on all it comes in contact with.

Yes, I have always felt it, just brushing the edge of my reach. A power so great it could make or break my world. It exiles me, destroys my relations and makes others shun me from a fear they cannot place. I see it behind angry blue eyes in a mirror, in a clenched fist as I swing it at a fool's face. It's in everything I do, and everything I am.

_What is this power?_ I used to ask.

No more. It's been years since I let myself wonder, worry, or whine about it. I have accepted this power, accepted my fate. Now I simply take the blows that life delivers with a manic grin—a crazed glint in my eye, confusing those around me. They don't know that I'm not laughing because I'm trying to be happy.

I'm laughing because I know that, one day, they will fear me, and they will know me in one word.

_Kyuubi._

* * *

The day never starts out bad; it only ends that way.

My mornings are fairly simple: Get up, eat food, find clothes (anything not completely rancid will do), finish homework, and try to leave before school starts. My school days follow an even simpler itinerary, if you can believe it. There's only one chore: survive.

I avoid stairs, because too often I am pushed down them. I avoid jocks, because too often I am their rabbit and they are the wolves. I avoid teachers because mostly, they hate me.

I avoid people, because too often I am feared.

Imagine going each and every day being deterred from joining the rest of the world, passing your time studying for classes no one would believe you could understand, let alone master. You spend each day hoping against hope that you won't go home with bruises that you must find a way to hide or heal by the next day. You pray every time you go down the hall that the person calling your name is one of the fist-full of people who won't take away the little money you have, regardless of how hard you fight them.

It's not much of a life, is it?

Well sad to say, it's still _my_ life.

But I survive it, against the odds, every hour and every day.

At first, this Tuesday seemed no different.

"Mr. Uzumaki, may I have a word with you after class?"

I appreciate Iruka. He understands my situation, and tries not to add flames to the fire. So instead of giving me my papers during class, he hands them all back to me at random after a class, making it sound like I'm in trouble.

­After all—I have a reputation to uphold.

I sigh dramatically, as if I find it bothersome to have to listen to his "reprimands."

"Yes, Mr. Umino."

When the bell rings, he waits until all but he and I, and another remain before handing me a grade report. I don't need to look at it; my grades rarely differ.

Iruka smiles. "Congratulations, Naruto. Perfect A-pluses as ever."

This is why I am grateful he does not post my grades with others--I can only imagine what might be done to me if anyone found out.

"Thanks Iruka. Do you have any more for me?"

"Of course." He hands me an impressively thick manila folder. In it there is a stack of papers and reading packets, each which I will turn in secretly that he will grade in his spare time. Of all the people in this world, Iruka is one of a rare few that I swear I will never harm.

A loud snore from the third occupant in the room catches our attention and Iruka frowns.

"KIBA!" he snaps, and the rough boy almost falls out of his chair as his head flings forward, drool still trailing down one of his red tattoos.

"H-huh?!"

"Time to go, dog-breath," I say and he dazedly gets to his feet.

"Lunch time already?" He stumbles towards the door and I grab his hoodie to stop him from running into the chalkboard.

"Thank you again, Iruka. I promise to have these in by next week."

"Be sure to take your time when identifying all the irony examples."

"I will." And with that I guide a drowsy Kiba through the door and away from the basement/ English class.

* * *

"Did you get all your work, Naruto?" asks a boy with a pineapple ponytail and a lit blunt as Kiba and I crumple onto the bowl-shaped steps behind the gym. A bulky boy with a mouthful of chips and rosy cheeks munches gently next to him while another with frogeyes and a bad bowl cut in a green sweater practices martial arts moves. In the corner, a boy with an Afro and thick glasses taps a red and white cane against Kiba's foot.

"Yeah. I think Iruka's going to try and bring up the whole testing issue again. I wish he's drop it."

"Umino is a very good teacher," says Lee, the green boy. "He will surely push you to strive for excellence while you are still vigorous and youthful. I do not see why you do not embrace your true identity as a masterful mind!"­

"My dad tried that once," says Shikamaru. "All it got him was a high pressure job and a nagging wife who won't leave either of us alone." He takes a long drag.

I know most people say pot makes you stupid, but I'd like to see what they make of Shikamaru—I swear, every puff he takes makes that 200+ IQ soar higher and higher. Literally. He passes the blunt to Kiba who passes it to me.

"There's no point in waving a red flag in front of a bull if it hasn't seen you yet."

Chouji nods enthusiastically and munches some more chips. If Shino has something to say about that, he keeps it to himself while Kiba just grins.

"That may be true," says Lee, "But only if you are cowardly enough to try and hide from it!"

As Lee launches into one of his long-winded speeches about "the power of youth" and success being the path too inner happiness, or whatever, I relax in the shadow of the gym.

This is where we congregate. The ultimate fools, losers, rock-bottom dwellers of the food chain.

Kiba, the jackass grease monkey who doesn't know when to shut his mouth. Shino, the only handicapped kid in the district with an uncanny ability to sneak up on people and an affinity for bugs.

Chouji is a little better off—a goalie for the school hockey team and sometimes the football defense. His bulk concealed some impressively strong muscles. He and Shikamaru have been friends since beyond even their recollection, despite some obvious gaps in their intellectual interests.

As for Lee…well…Lee's just weird.

I take the last puff of the almost gone roll and my world blurs at the edges while colors flare.

Aside from Iruka, I can name only these five as people I hold no grudge against. When the time comes, I will ask them to join me in my assent to power, and if they accept I will protect them with my life, as I would for any loyal to me.

But of course, should they refuse, they will be cut down like the rest.

They are not my friends, but people like me rarely have true examples of those. These people will never be truly close to me, but they'll do.

"Jesus Christ, you guys are pathetic."

I look around and feel a solid weight of hatred settle deep in my stomach.

Clean cut aristocratic features and pale skin frame dark hair and cruel eyes. A perfectly pressed designer outfit drapes over an Adonis figure that almost all females salivate over. Every inch of this person drips superiority and cash, from his obviously well bred looks to the pet high-and-mighty pale-eyed prince at his side.

Lee has stopped preaching and glares at the second boy.

Sasuke Uchiha. Neji Hyuuga. The two most powerful and influential people in a one-hundred-mile radius and some of my most notable enemies.­

I like to think of them as obstacles, or stepping-stones. I like to imagine stepping right over their stone-cold bodies on the road to greatness.

I doubt they'd like to hear that.

"What the fuck brings you bastards here?" Kiba politely snarls. Shino stiffens at his side and Chouji's bites are slower, frowning. Shikamaru and I exchange looks but say nothing. For now.

Sasuke sneers. "Just come to see if all the trash is being dumped together or if we're going to have to redirect them to the landfill."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" says Kiba.

"You didn't see them?" Neji this time. "There are a couple of new kids in school that look your type. We thought we'd see if Pathetic attracts Freak or if it needs a little help."

I know their kind of "help." In my freshman year Sasuke had his minions lock me in a closet with Kiba and Shino to "introduce me" to the rest of my species. They wouldn't let us out until we made-out, and when the janitor came by, they told him it was a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven.

_Maybe you'll be able to breed with your own kind!_ I remember one jeering.

Kiba and Shino are hardly my type.

"If you're so curious about pathetic attractions why haven't you jumped each other yet?" I say serenely.

WHAM!

Before I can do anything to block it, Sasuke has jumped forward and landed a punch to my face. It was hard enough that my head is spinning and I'm now sprawled on the ground.

I feel my temper rise to the surface like a writhing, fiery creature and my nails dig into my palm.

**KILL HIM!**

_Just wait Uchiha. You'll be the first to go!_


	2. Of Tattoos and Closet Comrades

If you look closely at history, one thing you will notice is that all the most impressive characters in the text books either suffered fairly horribly, or were mad. Of course, you may also notice that the truly successful ones liked to preach about things, and only the ones who preached truly good things get quoted in term papers.

I quote nothing beyond justice--beyond revenge, beyond the True Right, but I have hope that since I seem to be quite mad and have suffered my whole life, I will still succeed in getting a few mentions in schools.

But one other thing you may notice is that none of them really seemed to have a plan—they took a path and tried to follow it, and inevitably got thrown into something much bigger than themselves. Well, this is where I think they went wrong.

You see, I have a plan—loose and undefined as it currently is. I won't tell anyone about the whole thing right now—it might warp their little minds. But the first on my list of things to accomplish is the complete and utter destruction of Sasuke Uchiha, and to aid Lee in any way in his conquering of Neji Hyuuga.

I personally believe that by taking these first steps, I will have undoubtedly defined myself as the person I plan to become.

"Kyuubi" is a name to be written in blood.

* * *

The end of lunch bell resonates throughout the campus, stopping any kind of retaliation I might make against Sasuke, and freezing the challenge I know is rising in Lee's throat.

"Come on," says Neji, his blank eyes never leaving Lee's, even as he puts a hand on Sasuke's shoulder.

Sasuke shrugs the hand off and spits in my face.

_Just wait, Uchiha. Just you wait and see!_

The hostility lingers in our group long after they leave.

* * *

Two classes later, I finally get a glimpse of the new kids.

A boy with wild purple stripes reaching the edges of his face from his eyes and a black cap with triangle points like ears stands warily behind a short boy with spiked blood hair who reminds me of a model for Hot Topic. A girl with blond pigtails stands on his other side with a spike-knuckled glove and too-short skirt. The marked boy and girl remind me of body-guards, but the red one seems scary enough to handle himself, as he glares at his class mates with black-bruised green eyes.

All of them bare the tattoo of the K.S. on their necks and an hourglass tattoo on their forearm—marking them as gang members.

20/20s, I'd guess—_violent_ 20/20s at that. We don't get many brave enough to flaunt their hatred of the government so boldly.

"Class," starts Mr. Ebisu, "We have some new students. This is Gaara, Temari, and Kankuro Shukaku." He points to the red one first and I know without a doubt that he is in charge. Shortness aside.

"Psst," Chouji whispers to me. "What do you make of them?"

I shake my head. "Definitely 20/20s. Organized too, if those marks say anything. No wonder the ASSES were checking up on us. Unless these guys come with their own claws, we're going to get stuck with them by the end of tomorrow."

ASSES stands for Asinine Social Suckers with Emotional Stunting. Guess who they are?

Kiba groans to my left. "Are you shitting me? How the fuck am I going to ask Hinata out if these freaks are following my ass?"

"As if _you_ could get a date with _her_ to begin with," Shikamaru finally inputs. "She's three years older than any of us, and Neji's flipping _cousin_, to boot. You really think he's going to let you get down the family heir's pants?"

Kiba scoffs. "Like I care what that fucker—"

"Mr. Inuzuka! Mr. Uzumaki!"

Crap. Guess we weren't quiet enough. I wince and turn around.

I wonder if Ebisu got pissed when Shino showed up with the same signature glasses?

"Do you have anything you'd like to share with the class?"

In chorus we say, "No, Mr. Ebisu."

What well trained dogs we are.

"You three," he tells the new kids, "Take the seats in the row next to Mr. Uzumaki."

It's as I feared. They're being forced upon us.

I know most would ask, "What's the big deal? The more the merrier, right?"

Well most people aren't us. We don't just have to justify ourselves to the rest of the world, we have to justify those we keep company with.

Wrong as is sounds, there are no real friends among social scum. Should it prove more fruitful to us, Kiba would leave Shino stumbling around lonely in the dark, and I would cut ties to all of them in an instant. Lee and Chouji would try to be more loyal, and Shikamaru's too lazy to truly shun someone. But even if the three of them tried to hold on to each other, Lee's enthusiasm would eventually drive the others away and Shikamaru would eventually loose himself to some more lethal drug without any mind to Chouji.

We are all dispensable to each other. It's enough trouble to fight for the right to associate with our own kind—we don't need to defend some other nut-jobs that we don't want to begin with. They're on their own.

Like good little toy soldiers, the three siblings march to the back of the side row, Temari first, Kankuro last. They all three sit sideways to acknowledge the teacher with one ear and watch the class with both eyes.

Gaara is at a bad angle to attack me, but at my staring he signals his brother who kicks me.

"What?"

"Keep your eyes to yourself, ass," Kankuro threatens. Curious. I don't think his heart is really in it. His sister is busy biting her lip as she watches Shikamaru ignore her.

"If you don't want the attention, don't draw it on your face."

I know there was a flaw to that come-back.

The rest of the class is spent in tense but sleepy silence and I can feel green eyes digging at my back.

* * *

Three massive assignments and one painful ambush later and I can barely force the key into my apartment's lock, my hand trembles so bad. Stumbling into the darkness of my bathroom, I don't bother to switch on the light and drown myself in a hot bath for a few hours before diving into bed.

Around midnight, the phone wakes me, and I answer it groggily.

"He-yawn-llo?"

"Naruto."

I'm instantly awake at the sound of a woman's voice. Tsunade wouldn't call me this late unless…

"What's wrong with her now?"

She sighs before answering.

"She won't let Ino into the bathroom and I'm missing a bottle of tranquilizers."

Shit.

* * *

At three in the morning, I wonder idly what people would say as I shove my fingers down Sasuke's girlfriend's throat again and again, waiting for her to gag before hanging her head over the toilet.

Eventually the pills and the alcohol are replaced with sick acid, so I wash off my hand and pass her a glass of water.

"Thanks," she says weakly. I'll take that for an apology, however insincere.

"Just don't do it again," I say without feeling and she nods.

This isn't the first time. We both know it won't be the last.

* * *

I remember, once when she'd tried to slice her wrists open and I was wrapping them tightly in gauze, she asked me so softly, "Will you take me with you?"

After all the shit she's done to me in public, I find it amazing that she still clings to the hope that I will liberate her in private. Once, I would have said yes without hesitation. But that was before we were comrades in closed closets.

Only she sees the thing behind my eyes. Only I know how many coat hangers she's bloodied.

"No, Sakura," I said that night. I think it was a Tuesday too.

When the time comes, I will leave her to destroy herself.

Tuesdays seem to suck for me.


	3. What Happens in the Stock Exchange

"What the fuck's up with this school? Everyone looks at us like aliens."

Against our better judgment, when Temari drops into our circle the next day with a carton of camels and a bottle of whiskey, we don't kick her out. Kankuro follows her and when we ask where the little one is, he shrugs.

"Out terrorizing someone, I guess."

He takes the first sip of whiskey and the talk starts.

"I guess things weren't so up-tight at your last school—_no one_ supports the K.S. out loud," says Kiba. "Even those Pussy Goth-Rebels wouldn't welcome you, no matter what they say about fighting the man and shit, though you could try the hard-core Emos—they're too depressed to worry about being arrested."

"Goths, Emos—what's the difference?" says Temari.

I grab her arm before she can move and push up the mesh sleeve.

"That's the difference."

She snaps her arm back and pulls the thin net back over the black marks on her forearm.

Kankuro takes another swig and Shikamaru watches her with more conscious eyes.

"Oh, yeah--you'd get along fine," he teased knowingly. The Emo's have become the most famous of drug pushers among the school."

"I find that hard to believe," she says, looking pointedly at the genius who still smells of this morning's cannabis.

"No one here makes it obvious if they have a problem. They just cover it up in makeup and social events," I offer. "Why do you think no one likes _us_?"

"Like I care what people think of me," she murmurs, eyes averted.

"I ran into a guy today who made me think of you guys," says Kankuro. I like his voice—it's rich like a performer's but still young like him. "He said something about the back of the gym being where we belonged. I couldn't place it but there was something in his eyes that made me think of you," he directs this part at me and I turn away.

I know what in Sasuke would remind Kankuro of me.

"You should avoid him. He and the white-eyed guy—their families will tear yours apart."

Both brother and sister grin bitterly.

"Gaara already did that."

I decide not to ask what they mean and we finish off the contraband in group silence.

* * *

"Fucking moron," Sasuke spits.­

I crash to the ground and my head hits the lockers, hard.

Despite the fact that he's taken sports and martial arts for years, Sasuke never throws a punch if he can pay someone to do it for him. Neji stands on his right and Sakura dangles off his left arm like an expensive ornament. All three wear textbook definitions of sneers as their cronies move in to finish the job.

Sakura looks better when she's sobbing to my lap.

I don't know why I don't spill her secrets—

The big guy on the left lifts me by my collar and smashes my face into the cool metal of the lockers.

—I could tell them to Sasuke and he'd never touch her again—

The one on the right slams another fist into my ribs.

—But maybe it's the same reason I know she won't warn him when the time comes.

I am dropped and a third one I'd almost forgotten kicks me in the kidney, making me curl up like a baby.

"Fucking freak," she hisses and the boys smile. A girl with Nazi-perfect features, who laughs at the sight of me, though just last night she had been begging me to help her friend, joins them. She invites them to join her in a jaunt off campus to a restaurant with prices-per-plate equal to my rent.

I breathe a sigh of relief as they leave and loosen my teeth from around my bleeding tongue.

_Oh, yes; just you wait Uchiha. Just you wait…You'll be the very first to go..._

Three days later, Shikamaru and Temari show up late smelling of sex and weed. Kiba hoots, Kankuro raises a brow, and even Shino's lips tilt upwards when I compliment Shikamaru's choice in lipstick.

I notice Chouji's face go dark, darker still when the two keep their hands together and Temari steals the seat at Shika's side.

A storm is gathering over those three, and I wonder who will come out of it unscathed.

* * *

As per government-ordered curriculum, when we were children we were told about right and wrong.

Rebelling against the government was wrong.

Discussing politics was wrong.

Accepting religion into our lives—especially one based on Christ—that was right.

Being a good little consumer and buying everything was good.

Supporting or harboring illegal material that went against government censors—that was very wrong.

After the basic rules of "Government approved behavior" were explained, we were told about the little components, especially "Don't ask, don't tell."

I remember one kid asked, "Is it wrong for one guy to kiss another guy?"

The funny thing was, when the teacher told us we had to "decide that for ourselves", I got the impression that he was saying something else. Maybe it was the way he looked like he wanted to puke?

* * *

"I have a boyfriend!" Iruka tells me one day. He grins like a child sitting before an ice-cream sundae, and I'm reminded how young he still is.

He can't be more than twenty-six, I think.

A wave of nervous dread sweeps over me, but I try to hide it with an encouraging smile.

"Who's the lucky guy?"

_He's the only other gay guy here. Please, Iruka--don't say--_

"It's Mr. Hatake--you know; the Health Teacher? He asked me to dinner the other night--it was wonderful!" He gushes like a teenie-bopper, making it hard to keep my lunch down.

God help my patience--Kakashi Hatake of all people!

I wish I could make this a good thing. Iruka doesn't make his lifestyle public, so it's hard for him to get a date. But there is nothing on this earth that could make me see past the fact that Kakashi is one of the worst scumbags on campus, and an ASSES unto himself.

As Iruka fills me in on the details he will never dare share with his fellow teachers, I bite back my scathing comments and tell him congratulations.

Another Tuesday down the drain.

* * *

About three weeks into September, when only Shino and Kiba and I have bothered to show up, Lee joins us with tears in his eyes and a limp, trying to hide bruises by pulling at an even thicker sweater.

We know what happened, so no one says anything when he curls up into a silently sobbing ball for the first two classes. When the bell rings, we wordlessly help him to the nurse, Shizune, and look away when she takes off his shirt and gasps.

"Oh my lord! What happened to you Lee?!"

In a flawless lie, he announces, "I was perfecting my leaping mantis kick for my epic competition against our eternal rivals from Rivison! I believe I misjudged my own awesome strength and flew too far, for I landed in a pile of weights."

It's a surprisingly believable explanation. Lee's been known to get himself into trouble when he trains. Once, he pulled a hamstring so badly he wasn't able to walk for a week but when we found him, he was forcing himself to do double the weight lifting to make up for it.

And people suspect _me_ of having a loose screw.­

* * *

"How do your ribs feel?" asks Chouji the next day. Shikamaru and Temari are missing again, and Kiba's busy whining about Hinata to a silent Shino who reads a book with his fingers under the table.

I try to tune out the exuberant way he claims he's all right--Lee's "The power of youth is invincible" boasts remind me too much of my own smiling mask.

Neji and Sasuke leave us alone for most of the week, probably so that Neji can heal from the mirrors of the injuries he inflicted on Lee.

There is a well-known rule in the Hyuuga family: for each hit the company takes, Neji takes a bruise. For every point Byakugan Inc. stock loses, one of their relatives loses feeling in a limb.

There is also a well known rule in the loser circle--when your enemies are made to suffer, they will find a way to make you suffer equal to their pain, double their humiliation.

I think that's called projecting, right?

So when Uchiha & Company's competitors buy out a major deal soon after Lee goes back to practice, I'm not surprised when Sasuke's frustration bleeds into my life. Literally.

"You fucker! You fucker, you fucker, you fucker, you fucker, you fucker, YOU FUCKER! You're a mistake! You're a pathetic mistake and you'll never be worth anything! You should have been drowned at birth! I bet your mother tried and screwed up so bad you became stupid! Aargh!"

He accentuates each statement and "you fucker" with a crushing fist to my gut, my face, and anywhere else he can reach. If I didn't have Neji and a guy named Sakon sitting on my arms and legs, Sasuke would be dead right now.

I would slice his throat open with my teeth or squeeze his neck until his head popped like a balloon. Strip the veins out of his body or feed him the marrow from his own bones.

Such sweet thoughts let me slip into unconsciousness without much of a fuss, even as blood begins to fill my mouth.

* * *

Strangely enough, Gaara Shukaku is the first person I meet when I come to.

He steps out of an ally on my way home, scaring me so badly I choke on my own spit.

As if everything didn't ache already, now my head is threatening me. Why _this_ guy? I don't have the patience for him.

"Weak. You are so _weak_..." His voice is like hoarse nails on a chalkboard.

Now I know I just got the hell beaten out of my bones (as Kiba would be want to say), I'm barely standing up, and that I'm in no condition to fight, but I have any flaw, it's in my pride.

I will not be called weak.

"Go shoot yourself, you piece of shit!"

A weighted fist (probably holding a roll of quarters) lodges itself in my gut, and I double over seeing black dots.

­Another flaw would be in my common sense.

**"Weak sack of fleshy meat made for Mother's appetite...!"**

Oh, Jesus.

I know that look. It's one of anger, of hate, of rage; he's like me, but warped. Really, really warped.

He's forgotten how to be great, been swallowed by the anger, and let the blood lust wake up. Shit, even I know better than to let that happen; blood is like fairy food to us—one taste and you'll never crave anything else again.

His eyes get wide and he grins like a nut on crack, drawing back his fist for another punch.

But another voice makes both of us freeze.

"What's going on here?"

Well, goodie goodie gumdrops. TenTen Mizugawa--the local deputy chief-of-police's daughter and captain of the archery team. She's not a loser by any means, but she's enough of a nosey-do-gooder that she'd help Typhoid Mary if she were in trouble. And she's got enough muscle on her to knock Gai (the gym teacher) out with a well-placed volleyball spike.

I swear to God, I left all my luck in another life.

I meet Gaara's eyes and give him a look all troublemakers know. The "keep your mouth shut and I'll bail us out" look. Gaara doesn't want to trust me, I can tell, but he doesn't have much of a choice and I plan on making this benefit me one way or another.

"I got mugged. Gaara was just going to take me to my place to get fixed up. Right?"

He refuses; she'll catch on and find a way to blame my injuries on Gaara. He agrees and she'll follow us until we get somewhere she decides is safe.

TenTen's just that kind of person.

"Right," he says suspiciously. Wait for it...

"I'll help you." And she slips my arm over her shoulders, waiting for Gaara to do the same.

Ha. Knew it.

Gaara just glares at me.


	4. Aches and Pains

I like to believe I am not a hypocrite. But I hate lying to myself so that never lasts long.

I tell myself I am different from others, and yet I judge them with the same quick absolution that they use to back their cruelties.

I like to try to think of what could be good about them, to feel some sort of compassion for them, but when I play their faces through my mind, all I can feel are the aches of half-healed bruises on my side.

* * *

"Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. OW!"

I like to complain. I don't get to do it very often, because rarely is there someone around to complain to, and it's even rarer to find someone who'll put up with it. So with a captive (if murderous) Gaara under one arm and a too-nice-for-her-own-good girl under the other, you better believe I'm milking this for all it's worth.

Until, of course, I am dropped on my ass in front of my apartment door. Tenten looks at me with a tight smile and I know that all her kindness and caring has been spent for the day.

"Hope you feel better Naruto. Gotta go!" she says cheerfully and bolts.

I'd bet anything that she's gone home to wash off the scent of my "idiocy."

I cast Gaara a look, pleased when I see that some of the craze has receded. Not a lot, but enough that we can eye each other in a narrow hallway without someone getting killed.

Eventually, the tension gets chokingly thick and I decide to try to be a nice guy. Or a stupid one.

"You want to come in?"

He looks at me with understandable surprise. I haul myself to my feet, using the door handle as leverage and open it with clumsy fingers. I got lucky--Sasuke's lot forgot to take my keys today.

"If you want, you can eat something."

He looks like a paranoid animal waiting for me to pounce, but I see an old longing for affection beyond that from a childhood long screwed up.

I step aside, and he steps in.

* * *

"So what's with your eyes?"

It's only through close proximity that I realized Gaara's eyes weren't bruised, but really, really shadowed.

I believe in eating well, because I have high stress levels and they tend to mess with my metabolism. I also believe in eating sparingly to conserve funds, so when I start cooking, I make Gaara fork over eight bucks.

"To pay for what I'm about to feed you," is my way of explaining. I'm shocked when he actually gives me the money, instead of punching me and storming out like a six-year-old; he seems like the type to take it personally.

His face is impassive.

"I don't sleep," he says. His voice is horribly rough, and I wonder if I should offer him a cough drop.

"Crack keep you up?" His sinuses don't look bad enough for that, but God knows his sister sure likes her drugs.

"Coffee."

Ok-iee dok-iee then.

"Starbucks or off the shelf?"

"I like...Espressos."

I'll bet you do, buddy.

I roll my eyes but dish out the dinner anyways. When I turn around, I'm almost scared out of my skin to see him standing right behind me, holding a bottle of vodka.

I wonder if he knows how creepy that is.

Normally I don't drink this late for the sake of hangovers but my aches and pains could use some liquid sympathy. I pour us a glass each and he takes the instant ramen and fresh veggies without complaint.

That makes four people who like to carry around illegal substances in their backpacks.

What can I say? We outcasts like our liquor.

* * *

By the end of the week I've been to Sakura's place not once, not twice, but three times. I try not to contemplate the variety of ways to kill one's self that I've learned so far. She's quite creative, though she says not all close-calls are on purpose. Did you know a person could accidentally hang themselves? With panty-hose? From a rafter? Amazing, I know.

By the time Saturday rolls around I have almost become a permanent fixture at the Haruno house, and Tsunade has invited me to tea.

In the daytime.

Near windows.

Where people might see me.

Sakura doesn't like this.­

"What if people see?! What if someone finds out he knows me?! It'll ruin everything! My reputation is on the line here! _What if Sasuke finds out?!_"

She rants and raves around the house, throwing things and yelling at me while her aunt just takes a drink. Ino's out shopping. Smart girl. I stand in the doorway and wait for her to vent until she finally runs to her bedroom to finish her tantrum.

"Earl Grey or Chamomile?" says Tsunade at last, pointing to the beautiful Victorian tea set.

"Chamomile." I sit down and when the screaming/crying starts up again, she adds an extra bag and a pill to my cup.

"For the stress."

She pours herself a glass of wine, saying it's for her heart. Bullshit. The wine isn't even red.

God, is everyone I know an alcoholic?

Tsunade wasn't always this weak. There was a time when she was a flourishing young doctor with powerful men salivating over her and the world at her beck and call. She was a princess in her own right, until her princes died—victims of the Four Days of Anarchy.

Now all that's left is a rich old crone who blows her money on youth treatments and bets she never wins and bottles to drown herself in. She gives a bad name to blonds.

Dan was a nice guy, I'm told, and I suspect she wears his clothes to bed, relishing in what's left of his smell.

I'd also guess she only likes me because I look like her little brother, but I need her too much to hold a grudge.

That's the nice thing about Tsunade--I doubt there's anything I could do in this world that would make her turn her back on me completely. She likes believing that she saved her little brother, so I ignore it when she calls me Nawaki, and take the money she offers for my upkeep.

I will never kill Iruka because he is a good man who cares for me. I will never kill Tsunade because it's better to feel pity for the useful living than the wasted dead.

Will she always be so indulgent of the teenagers around her? Perhaps. I have hope one day she will snap out of it and take charge of her life again.

"Thanks for coming to watch her." Her mammoth F-cup breasts heave with each breath. "I think you're being here will stop her from doing something stupid."

"Doubt it."

I light a cigarette and she wrinkles her nose at me.

Hypocrite.

"I saw your essay in the _ANBU_ yesterday. Impressive. You've got a good voice but your organization needs work. And you're content is shaky. And you had grammatical errors. And you need a better hook. And--"

"I thought you said it was good?" I protest. "Did I do anything right by you?"

She grins a little grin.

"You've got something in you kid--something no one can name, but if you play your cards right--," she takes a drink, "--you'll be getting far in this world."

She tosses a magazine with an abstract flower image on the cover. The word _ANBU_ is spread over each of the petals and an eye forms the center.

The original cover page—_The New Yorker's_ latest—sits on the side of the table where it's been ripped off. Rumor has it that the two magazines have a deal—the _New Yorker_ takes a piece of the profit from the sales of the illegal _ANBU_, which is why you have to have a subscription to both to get it, and why _ANBU _is more expensive.

"Cute pen name."

"I like it," I pout, and she reaches over to ruffle my hair.

She pours me another cup (sans the pill this time) and I thumb through the illicit pages until I come to a photo of a gate made of hands clawing to get out. A chain of haiku poems accompanies it.

…_Fleshy fingers claw_

_Metallic walls grip—a vice_

_The caged bird sings…_

"Have you seen this?" I ask, showing Tsunade the pages. She laughs.

"Gentle Fist's latest work—it's not bad, but I suspect it's more of a personal issue with the government than an overall criticism, and was likely written desperately close to the deadline to keep their slot."

I nod, familiar with the process; you have to earn the right to publish in _ANBU_, because half the people writing in don't have the balls to handle the repercussions of what might happen if they were caught. And if _ANBU_ thinks you _have_ been caught because _you_ failed to send a piece, they will _ruin_ you, if only to keep you quiet.

Tsunade sighs mournfully. "Oh how I miss the good old days when even Nazi's had the right to post hypocritical bull, and no one could say shit because it was _their_ right too."

"Free Speech before ROOT," I say, and she echoes—

"Before ROOT…"

I continue on, to a picture of powder laid out in a cross shape.

_Outrage of the Cross! Part III_ is the article below it, and I don't need to read it to know what it criticizes.

_Colossal misinterpretation of the word, "faith"...complete disregard for human and civil rights...corrupted position of political power..._blah blah blah.

I wrote those words in the midst of a caffeine splurge during documentary on pagan prosecution after a day with the ASSES. My mood at the time was a little...extreme, and the like. I barely remember the words, but I know what I said.

Angry words. Cruel words. Undeniable words.

Kyuubi's words.

It's not often I voice my opinions. I usually shun them for a more docile comment and let the world believe me to be an idiot, if a mildly rebellious one from time to time. But Kyuubi never stays quiet for long, so when I pick up a pen, I have to work not to let my more…sadistic side seep into my sentences.

"What will you write next?" she asks and I pause to sip and consider.

"Probably take up the opposing side, spread the sympathy. After this I was going to dabble in the educational system's screw-ups. Beyond that...who knows?"

"What did you call his opponent again?"

"The devout priest, Hidan. Ever faithful in his tyrannical God."

She snorts. We lapse into calm silence as I scan over the Holier-than-though-edits the _ANBU_ writers love to poke into my work.

She's right about her comments, of course. I sound too overwhelming--out of control. And I forgot to switch a few lines and change a few words. You'd think _ANBU_ would have enough skill to notice that seam/seem screw up.

"You're causing quite a stir in the community with those articles."

I smirk, a little wistfulness in my eyes. "Yeah, but I've still got a long way to go before I cause any riots."

"You know I know someone who could help get you on your way."

"Oh really? Have I heard of him?"

She wrinkles her nose again, as if a foul odor has wafted under her pert cartilage.

"You'd better not have. He's been writing some notable filth for the past few years. You're health teacher likes to read his books, I've heard."

My eyes get wide and my mouth drops. "You're bulling me!"

She rolls her eyes. "I wish."

"You know the author of the _Make Out Paradise_ Series?!"

I'm stunned. I didn't expect someone as proper (cough, cough) as Tsunade to be caught within a mile of any of those stories, let alone their authors.

"He used to write 20/20 stuff and worked for the Liberal Parties. Was a professor at a college until an ex-friend of ours backstabbed him. It's been a while since I've seen anything of his near anyone with power, but I'd bet he'd take you on if you showed him some of your work. You remind me of one of his old students."

This is what I mean when I say Tsunade is more useful to me alive than dead. She looks young and beautiful, but believe me; she's got her years on her and the numbers of some seriously high power players.

"Oh? Which one?"

"Minato Namikaze."

A thrill runs down my spine and the hairs stand up on my arms while I choke on my tea.

Holy crap.

"N-no-oh joke?" I wheeze.

"No joke."

There is a gleam in her eye that sends that excited feeling running for the hills to be replaced by a sinking in my gut. She's planning something. I know it.

BANG!

The door swings open and Sakura strides out of the plush suite, her heels high, hair primped, makeup done up--the works. Another public appearance with Sasuke and the Uchiha family, for sure.

Another melt down in the making, definitely.

I mentally sigh and prepare to clear my schedule for the night.

Tsunade closes her eyes and I see her internally seal herself against it all.

"Tell you what kid. You come around about ten tonight and take care of her before she does too much damage, and I'll see about sending your words his way. Deal?"

I'm groaning internally, but nod anyways.

"Deal."

* * *

She's violent tonight. She screams loud enough to make my ears ring, and scratches at me with filed nails. I grab her wrists and drag her down to the cool linoleum floor, prying a razor out of one hand, ignoring the thin cuts on her hips as I bind her with my arms.

She sobs for a while, but eventually soothes herself while I rock her back and forth. I take some pills from the counter and when she starts struggling again, I pinch her nose and cover her mouth.

Open wide and swallow.

_What happened to us, Sakura? Where did we go wrong?_

Her tears flow long into the night.

* * *

"Naruto." He sounds horrible even over the phone.

I would ask why Gaara keeps showing up in my spy hole, or how he got my number, but these past few weeks, he's as much a part of my place as I am of Sakura's. He knows where my spare key is, and that makes me nervous, but I've noticed people attack our group less when he's around.

"What's up?"

"..."

"Uh, Gaara?"

"..."

"What is it man? Spit it out, I'll listen."

"...Are you interested in fighting this weekend?"

Well my, that was blunt. Vague, but blunt.

"What do you mean 'fighting'?"

"...There are weak men causing trouble in my territories. We will teach them a lesson. Will you help?"

One of the first things I learned about Gaara and his family; they aren't just 20/20 rioters that missed the party, though that is their preferred definition. They run a rather powerful gang of delinquents--drug dealers, thieves, head cases, people who like to hurt people, etc. I don't judge, but I think that's to be expected.

I drum my fingers on the counter, ignoring the sounds of the news on my old rabbit-ears set.

"What's the most likely outcome?"

"...What?"

"Are we looking at jail time or body dumping or just scaring them 'til they piss themselves?"

"...The police will not touch us. There will be no killing that night."

Uh-huh. Between his blood lust and my other half, I wouldn't bet too high on that.

"It is your choice."

"You trust me that much?" Hard to believe from someone who probably sleeps with an eye open.

"I know things about you that should remain hidden."

Meaning he has just as much shit on me, so there'd be no point.

"...I'll think about it."

"Answer by Friday, or else," and the line goes dead.

How cheery.

_

* * *

_

Her hair is soft a soft blushing color to match the primrose tint of her checks. She fidgets with the hem of her dress and watches her toes, glancing up shyly from time to time.

_My heart thuds hard in my chest. _

_She's an angel with all the flower petals caught in her hair--souvenirs from our recess games. She smiles softly and I store that coy look away for my dreams with all the other sweet things about Sakura. _

_It's a different look than the one she shows me when she grins at me from the top of the slide. A different look from the one she gets when she's figuring out what color to make the sun in a drawing. _

_"What is it?" _

_"I--I--" _

_'Spit it out!' I want to tell her. The sooner this is over with the better for us all. _

_He glares coolly. _

_"I like you, Sasuke." _

_We do everything together--everything! She's never far from me, even when she's at home, because Tsunade lets me stay over most nights. She holds my hand all the time and the ground is always even under us. _

_If one of us is up, the other goes up. If one of us falls, the other jumps to join them. _

_My hand tingles where her palm should be. _

_I watch them from above in a tree and I wonder with a child's confusion, 'Why does she feel so far away from me?' _

_"You hang out with that freak, don't you? The one nobody likes." _

_'She likes me!' I would yell if I could. _

_Sakura nods. _

_"I don't like anyone who likes him." _

_"I don't like him either!" she says quickly, and I feel like I should be falling. "I just play with him because my aunt likes him. She makes me drag him around. He won't leave me alone anyways." _

_She wrinkles her nose in a way I once thought cute. Now it just looks the same as everyone else. Cruel. _

_Sasuke nods. "Good. You can play with my friends if you promise not to like him. But try to get out of bringing him along. Tell your aunt he's mean." _

_"OK!" She beams for him. The blame is lifted from her shoulders and she can relax. She is accepted. She can go on to better things. _

_I see no guilt in her eyes, no uncertainty. _

_This is what she wants. _

_Soon I will be alone again, and my heart slows down until it hurts. _

_'Sakura--why are you so far away?' _

* * *

I sit up bolt right in bed, crying, and I wonder why I still remember that.


	5. I'll Bring You a Gun

I like to think that I don't believe in God.

When I was young, I would find a certain amount of peace in running and hiding in the Temple near the orphanage, where a kind rabbi would let me hide out when "home" was too cruel.

He told me fables and songs and teachings from the Torah, and would let me join the Saturday Mass if I sat in the back where I couldn't be seen.

He was old and smelled of paper, and time has stolen most of my memories of him. All that remains is the distinct flash of light on his glasses, the bristles of his beard, the worn softness of his hands when he ruffled my hair.

Kind as he was, he never offered me any form of salvation, no assistance in finding a kind and loving home. He told me about God and His love, but never offered anything beyond a mild sympathy.

As the years went on, the rabbi became more important to others. He became distant and unmindful of the child who would sit after hours at the altar where they hung the beautiful Star David, making up children's songs with the few Hebrew words he'd learned.

I was not surprised when the rabbi was gone and a scornful woman chased me away.

Perhaps the dark part of me was more visible back then, because it's been years since strangers automatically avoided me.

From then on, I watched the Temple's doors with angry longing, and a deep-rooted anger began to fester.

I like to believe that I don't believe in God. But if I didn't believe in him, I don't think I could have learned to hate him so much.

_

* * *

_

"Iruka! Iruka! Guess what?!"

_"What is it, Naruto?"_

_The man smiles at me brightly and hands me a cookie. I wave the paper around like a flag and he takes it from my little hand. _

_"I got an A! It's my first ever! We had to write about someone special in our life and I wrote about you and I got an A! Thank you, Iruka!"_

_He laughs and ruffles my hair. _

_"Don't thank me, Naruto. You're the writer. It was you're words that earned you this A."_

_He uses the fox magnet--my favorite--to pin the paper to his freezer door and I beam._

_"Yeah, but I wouldn't have wrote it if I didn't have you."_

_Against the old white metal, my paper's scribbled title sits as perfectly as a teddy bear in a child's arms._

"_Why my Neighbor Iruka Umino is Awesome_

_By Naruto Uzumaki"_

I wrote those words in second grade, but I hadn't seen that paper for almost seven years until this morning when I found it slipped into one of my pockets.

Amazing what you're teachers will keep hanging on their refrigerators.

I cut off the sides carefully, mindful of the childish writing that pops out from between the lines. A little glue and some careful placement, and soon I have it settled in the early pages of my scrap book.

Right alongside my letter to the teacher about why "Icky-Sasuke-Bastard" should be kicked out of school.

* * *

Early one October morning, Kiba skipped, bounced, and lept into our circle, grinning like a clown.

"You are looking at the new, official boyfriend of the one and only Hinata Hyuuga--the most beautiful girl in the world!"

He then tells us all the fluffy details with pink cheeks and even Shino has to smile, if bitterly.

* * *

There is nothing more foreboding than standardized testing.

Rows upon rows of uniform desks like playing cards in a solitaire game. Chains of bubbles filled with letters from our childhood to match the impersonal and impassive question packets.

We spend hours in rooms with everyone we do and do not know, reduced to test scores and scribbling with number two pencils. It reminds me so much of cattle waiting in the pen before the slaughter, but this herd can think for itself, and in the silence it's not hard to picture students trying to remember tips and formulas they've been studying all their lives.

A cloud of fear hangs over the bovine heads before, during, and after--contemplating the outcome. Do or die; pass or fail; too high or low for what you dream of?

It doesn't matter if you can write a symphony or make your friends laugh so hard they cry; read, write, and do your arithmetic or you will fail in life.

That's what I've been told at least.

"AGGH! I cannot stand this! There are more numbers in my brain than in my text book!"

Lee may be able to punch a hole through a wall, but that boy is lucky he can count, let alone solve an algebraic equation.

We stride down the hall in pursuit of the gym, unsure if we'll be reprimanded for tardiness again or if traffic might be kind today and part to let us run through. At the same time, I listen to Lee whine, calmly assuring him that he will survive.

"You should pay Shikamaru to teach you. Or Shino. Both could give you some great tips. Though Shino would be your best bet. Shika might blow you off for that Temari chick."

Lee nods. "Yes. He has been spending a large amount of time with her lately. It is worrisome that he could be so close to her so fast. I do not think Chouji likes her very much."

Understatement of the century. If looks could kill, Shika would have been holding a mutilated corpse in the first week. Kankuro is no longer a part of our group. In the wake of his sister's attractions, he resigns himself to sitting under a tree across the field, sipping bitter bottles and stroking an old guitar.

I've heard tell that he's in a rock band. ­

We enter the mammoth gymnasium, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to relax as the nurse comes up to lecture us about sex.

Once you catch Kiba screwing behind the cafeteria, you'll find you don't need too much help on the subject.

I doze off for a few minutes while Lee rapidly writes notes, ears perked for anything that might help him woo a lady friend.

I doubt his ability to list STDs would help them see past that haircut.

About halfway through the lecture, I realize that I've left my English notes in Kakashi's class. This wouldn't be a big problem, except that Iruka shows no mercy for those who don't know pronouns, and I have a test in his class next.

Crap.

I groan and tell Lee to watch my stuff--I'm getting out for a minute.

I suppose I should be thankful that the bleachers are hollow under us and the top rows where we sit are so dark and crowded, the nurse is unlikely to see me as I slip through the steps like a snake, wandering the maze of metal bars to get to the side exit.

Being scrawny never hurts when escaping.

There's no one in the halls and the slap-slap-slap of my shoes are the only sounds to distract my thoughts from the distasteful person I must visit.

I don't know why Kakashi hates me. I didn't even know he existed until high school, but it seemed like he'd known about me long before we met.

He always sounds so nonchalant when he assigns unusually difficult projects for a health class, but he meets my eyes with a cold hatred every time I enter the room. I've tried confronting him about it, but each time he just reads his filthy porno book and turns a deaf ear until I get pissed and leave.

Finally, I come to a stop before Health 402.

The door is thick, but not thick enough to drown out the sounds of people talking, though the conversation is erratic and muffled.

Who would be visiting Kakashi-bastard? I grin.

Oh well. Any opportunity to fuck with him. Hope I'm interrupting something important.

I open the door and feel the smile fall off my face.

* * *

Crunch crunch, crumple, twist, ri-iiip.

I look down at the pile of confetti at my feet and the traces of paper that cling to my nails. My entire second grade page is ruined. Nothing survived.

I'll mourn for that loss later.

Breathe deep. Close eyes. Exhale. Slowly.­

Laughs of the frightening kind curl around my open jaws like worms tunnelling towards the sky. A bitter taste is left behind as I rock back and forth, tears streaming, heart breaking in ways I didn't know existed.

_A large hand caresses a tanned thigh. Moves up to support a slim back._

Remembering...always remembering...

_A professional, if patchy blazer falls with a white shirt over a shoulder. My papers--my work, my words, and my thoughts--are flung to the ground in the frenzy._

As if I could forget.

_His handsome face grins at me from around a neck and he laps at it lightly, like a kitten might lap at cream. _

My stomach rolls. I heave.

_The streamers of a tie knot around the back of his head, suggesting games I don't want to think about. He can't see me as the taller man flips him over._

I didn't know Iruka had a birthmark there.

_"Ka-Kakashi!"_

_Vengeful, lustful, angry but laughing eyes look at me accusingly as sickening sounds fill the room. I know, when his teeth pull back in a snarl (one that looks more hateful than most) that this is all for me. They are fucking on _my_ desk, after all._

They were lucky only I came down to visit.

_Iruka begs like a dog. Begs for things that would make him blush later, I knew. Kakashi likes putting on a show for people; how else could you explain that self-satisfied smirk as he thrusts?_

I didn't know I could run that fast. I never noticed how close I live.

_"Who do you love?" Kakashi whispers, eyes never leaving mine._

_"You!" Iruka cries, and I close the door quietly. _

He knew. He knew I'd be there.

I stand up, ignoring the vomit (I'll clean it up later), move to the phone, dial. So mechanically.

The second tone, and he answers.

"Naruto."

"Gaara. You still need another man this weekend?"

I swear, you can almost hear that boy's mood switch to crazy.

"But of course," he half chuckles and I ignore the part of me that wants to run screaming.

"Meet me here."

"I'll bring you a gun."

I say nothing about that but thank him and hang up.

You win, Kakashi.


	6. We Bump Back

Gaara picks me up promptly at six and hands me a loaded handgun and two clips.

"I thought we weren't killing anyone tonight?"

"We aren't."

I roll my eyes but put the gun in my coat anyway.

Sometimes it's better not to pester the crazed gun-toting insomniac.

Temari and Kankuro are waiting for us outside, both packing heat. Temari's eyes are as sinister as her brother's. I don't miss the dried blood around her nostril.

Shika really can pick 'em, can't he?

"Where are we headed?" I ask.

"A couple of our members are staked out around the problem areas. We're meeting them there," says Kankuro.

"'Problem areas?'" Sounds more like a rash than a bunch of idiot punks about to get their asses handed to them.

"Some fuckers from Kumo have been messing up the stores in our territory," Temari all but snarls. "We sent a message to their leader to get them out a week ago, but he hasn't done shit. Now they have to pay the price."

She flexes her fingers around brass knuckles and a thick chain clinks around her waist. Kankuro has a crowbar hanging on his belt.

Apparently guns aren't enough.

I don't think Gaara is the type to really need a weapon. His muscles twitch under his sleeves and his eyes shift like a child impatient to _play_. I know the feeling; Kyuubi gets like that around Sasuke.

"Will I have to join you guys if I do this?" I ask. Because I don't think I have time to commit to this properly.

"No," Gaara assures me.

"Consider this a test drive," says Temari. "If you like it, you can try and convince Gaara that you're worth the time it would take to watch your ass."

"And if I don't like it?"

She shrugs.

"Then we kill you or strike you with the fear of God."

"Ah. Great."

This corner is like a fork in the road. On the one hand, I can go right--back to my apartment and an easy association with the Shukaku family. On the other, I go left--align myself to violence and take risks I've never dared before.

The air is thick with waiting.

They look at me expectantly and I get the feeling Gaara's going to kill me if I don't make my choice now.

I take a breath a feel an evil anger unfurl in my stomach.

I smile cruelly.

Cock my head.

And say the stupidest thing I can.

"Let's get this party started!"

* * *

The Suna gang is a bit patch worked--members thrown together from whatever remains of the factions the Shukakus tear apart--but it's durable and efficient and most importantly, it's surprisingly loyal to its leader.

Seems I'm not the only one with a protective streak. Gaara may have a few screws loose, but he's earned the respect of everyone around him by fighting tooth and nail for anyone who follows him.

Kyuubi makes a nod in respect of that.

That's why we're here tonight. Three of the Kumo gang's members have been terrorizing Gaara's favorite sweet shop where the owner gives him free cookies.

They've moved on by the time we get there and I see a weeping man sweeping the glass away from his ruined business.

He looks at Gaara and points down the street.

"They went that way," he sobs, and Gaara nods. He slips inside for a moment and comes back nibbling on a cookie.

I'm slightly aghast that he would have so little tact. But then again, this _is_ Gaara.

We move along, Gaara in front, Temari at his left, Kankuro and I behind them, the ten members invited to this shin-dig trailing behind us like a pack of wolves looking for prey.

"Stop."

Gaara's command is surprising, but everyone freezes on cue.

The sound of breaking glass, metal clangs, and male laughter--they emanate from the next block.

I randomly note that Suna territory is surprisingly vast.

Gaara moves left, towards a long alleyway that cuts to the next street and Temari and I follow with three others while his brother leads the rest to the right, around the block.

Temari leads me by my wrist through the dark ally, and I would protest if not for the fact that I'm somewhat blind in the dark. Gaara moves forward with the steady slink of a cat, and as we move towards the sounds, the rest of the group disperse into side lanes, supposedly to get into position to surround them.

The laughter of our targets gets louder--there are _way_ more than three voices up there--and I wonder how sure Gaara is that the police won't come.

Suddenly the gun in my belt feels a whole lot heavier.

We ambush them just in time to catch them trashing a park playground--tossing garbage cans left and right, yanking chains from the tops of the swings, and spray-painting obscenities on the slides. It's too late out for children to see this, but I wonder who's going to fix this mess tomorrow.

Do gangs come with custodians?

Before he knows what's coming, Gaara jumps out and hits one hard in the back.

The others take that as a sign and attack.

There are seven or eight Kumos, but it's hard to count and eventually I just start fighting.

Kyuubi wakes up with a vengeance.

My blood feels hot in my veins, my heart speeding up to make a dull roar in my ears. My limbs move jerkily, because I'm not the only one moving them anymore.

My fist swings and clips one guy in the chin so hard he hits his head against a pole. I leave him and run up behind another guy. As he turns around I shove an open hand into his gut, pushing him out of the sandbox and onto the cement.

Before I know it, my mind is full of violence.

**There's one! There he goes! After him quick, quick--like a rabbit! **

A man falls before me and I step on his leg so hard I hear it crunch.

**Ooooh, those screams are nice! Blood, blood, make him bleed!**

I jump on top of another one and start pounding on him until all I can hear is the sound of Kyuubi's cheers.

**Yes, yes, YES! Bring him more, more pain! Make them all squeal like stuck PIGS--!**

"Naruto."

I look up, my vision as red as Gaara's hair as he jerks his head for me to follow.

Some of the Kumos got away.

**We don't want THAT, now do we?**

Open mouthed and grinning like a pair of cats chasing mice, we leap and dash across the park after three screaming guys.

One runs faster than the others, veering to the right until a blond blur I recognize as Temari sprints past us and tackles him to the ground. The other two speed up and Gaara and I close in on them.

**Hop the fence, past the dumpsters, over the debris, through the ally, around the corner and—**

Dead end.

**"Cooor-nered!" **Kyuubi sings through my mouth.

Gaara's voice is higher--as it was in the ally with TenTen. **"Little ones out to play...want to play with us?" **he purrs.

Neither of us is standing up right now; we haunch a bit and tilt our heads to consider them. Our arms swing like pendulums and we slink closer and closer to our prey.

I'm certain we look downright horrifying.

"K-k-keep the fuck away you freaks!" one on the right yells, his voice breaking like mine did a few years ago.

**"Young meat is good meat," **Gaara hisses.

"I'm-I'm warning you!" They both draw guns and point them at us with shaking hands.

Gaara and I exchange happy glances and curl our fingers like claws.

Together, we pounce.

* * *

I don't think Gaara meant to kill them. The smell of blood and fear was thick in the air, and animals _do_ tend to react strongly to both in fights.

I don't remember putting the other guy's arm into that shape, or bending his leg to that angle, because when one of the idiots' bullets grazed my face, everything went a bit...crazy. I think Gaara was the one who snapped his neck though, so I try not to worry about it.

The satisfied giggle in the back of my mind (still close to the surface, just in case) tells me that Kyuubi had fun.

We stand over both of our victims, looking at each other awkwardly. We're calm now, and it's become one of those moments when Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious might actually be an appropriate thing to say. Everything feels very surreal, and I don't think it's hit me yet that we just killed two people.

"So...what do we do with the bodies?"

Gaara doesn't answer, but looks at me for a moment, before grabbing one by the collar and hauling him up the ally way.

I follow suit, because I don't know what else to do, and I realize my hand is shaking.

It takes us a while to get them back to the park, and by then I can feel a slight panic rising in my stomach. I don't feel guilty--why should I? Gaara and Kyuubi did this, not me. It's that things have gotten so out of control that scares me more than I want to admit.

This was supposed to be a simple beat down. Now I'm an accomplice to murder.

And to think I could've been at home with a book.

Without prompting, four of Gaara's group collect the bodies from us and cart them off. One guy with several scratches on his chin approaches Gaara and he rasps, "We took them out behind _Guido's Pizza_. Bleach and purge the scene. Check for witnesses."

The guy nods, gestures to one other, and leaves.

I suppose, with a guy like Gaara in the lead, this kind of thing has become routine.

Kankuro leads us over to the pile of KO'd bodies, only one of them close enough to consciousness that he's twitching and moaning. Gaara wastes no time in grabbing the poor guy by the scruff of the neck and slapping him awake.

I can almost feel pity as his eyes go from closed to dazed to clear to terrified. A manic redhead with icy eyes is hardly pleasant to wake up to. Especially when you don't know that the bodies you're lying on aren't dead.

"Wh-wha-what are you gonna do with me?"

Gaara grins and I can see the blood vessels in his eyes bulge from here.

"What you've seen tonight--take that to your _leader_ as a warning," he growls and grinds out. "My territory is _off limits._ Hear?"

The guy nods and Gaara shoves him away, satisfied.

Temari and a few others snicker. I sneer and try not to inhale the rank odor his crotch gives off.

He's pissed his pants.

* * *

Sirens cut the night and I feel my blood run cold.

For a moment we are all frozen but the second Gaara so much as _flinches_ like he might run we are gone like a bag of coke at a halfway house.

I'm sorry. Was that uncouth of me?

Tough. I don't have time to _breathe_ right now; screw manners.

I've lost Gaara and his siblings within about ten seconds of running. Unfortunately, there are no Sands in sight to follow through this maze of back allies and _damn_ but those sirens are getting loud.

I round a corner and flashing lights shine on the world before me.

My feet feel like lead.

At least five cop cars are strewn around the stores we passed earlier as men in blue uniforms and dark suits point guns at people across the street.

"We have you surrounded. Drop your weapons and put your hands behind your head," someone calls through a megaphone.

I swallow hard; I recognize the logo on the plate of the Saturn in the middle and I'm grateful no one's noticed me.

A bright red disk with three comma marks chasing each other around a hole glares at me from the center of the PDC-124 that would deter any joy rider.

I force myself to take several steps back into the shadows--I'm too exposed at the mouth of my little ally.

What the fuck is _Uchiha & Company _doing paying for cop cars?

The place I hide in is a bit higher than the square where the Kumos and Sands are cornered, and it reminds me of a cave--hard to see anything from the outside unless something moves while the occupants (bats, or in this case, me) can watch the world with an uninterrupted view.

A heavy hand clamps over my mouth and I try to turn to attack but before I can move another hand grabs my arm and twists it against my back.

_Oh god I've been caught!_

"Don't make a sound or we're both screwed." I almost melt in relief. _Yay for Kankuro! _Is my irrational thought. He drags me back until we're around the corner and hisses against my ear. It tickles.

"We have to wait until they're done here--there's more where I just came from and we need to know where these guys are headed before we so much as sneeze."

I wiggle my arm a bit against his hold.

"If I let you go, you better not even _think_ loudly. Get it?" _Got it_, I nod "Good."

He releases me and the renewed circulation makes my wrist tingle. Guess no one ever taught him to play nice with allies.

We watch from the darkest of shadows as those ahead are rounded up and frisked, and (god knows why) I find myself following one cop in particular, the line of his shoulders and superior air catching my attention even with his back to us.

"I'm going around the corner to check on our other exit," Kankuro breathes. "You stay here and keep an eye on things."

I nod and he's gone.

Although I know I'm _so_ doomed if I get caught by Kankuro, I move up the ally a bit, fascinated by this particular cop. He's got slightly gray hair in a pony tail that reflects the siren lights better than Sasuke's would.

_Sasuke...Uchiha..._

Where did _that_ come from?

His coat is slung over his shoulders like a cape and I note the ornate ring that glitters in the night and the dark nail polish that seems a little juvenile, even if he's gay. Next to him is a man easily six-feet-plus with skin the same blue color as a corpse that looks flaky and rough despite my distance.

The blue guy turns to say something to the enigmatic cop and I'm struck by how..._pointy_ his grin is.

Guy looks like a fucking shark.

If fish-boy's partner says something, I can't tell, but it doesn't matter, because there is someone behind me, and Kankuro's grip on my arm returns with a vengeance.

"What the _fuck_ are you _doing_ you idiot?!"

I swallow and refuse to answer, letting him come to his own conclusions. His gun is pressing against my back where it hangs on his belt.

**Better hope it's his gun, **Kyuubi snickers.

_Not now you bastard!_

"They've cleared out behind us. We're going that way."

There is no room for argument and although the presence behind me is gone, I can feel his eyes on me peering around the corner.

I have a suspicion Gaara is there too.

My eyes watch carefully for any sign that the Shark and the Poof are looking my way as I back up slowly.

"Freeze!"

It's not either of the duo that says this, but another cop to their right.

I spin on my heel and start running, and I hear the idiot call again, "I said FREEZE!"

Yeah. Right.

I bolt down the alley and around the corner, following the fleeing heels of Kankuro and (I guessed right) Gaara, all the while cursing my hair color for being so noticeable and trying to ignore the lack of following footsteps.

Those freaks were close to me. I should hear them coming pounding pavement on the edge of my ass.

A gun barrel snaps out of nowhere (or, a rather tiny connecting ally) to press against my temple and I freeze, trembling.

"Caught you, Little Guppy."

Oooh. Yay. I'm going to be arrested by a guy who sounds more trigger-happy than Gaara.

I want to be miffed at the "Guppy," comment (I'm not that scrawny!), but it's hard to focus on that when a cold voice says, "Turn around slowly," with all the emotion of an icicle.

I comply, and I swear to god I should be having convulsions.

I know why the Village People Cop caught my eye.

Pale skin. Dark hair, dark eyes. Perfect features that leave women wet on contact.

Sweet Mary, Mother of Christ.

Sasuke's older brother is pointing a gun at me.

**Ha-ha!**

"Naruto Uzumaki."

He states it like a question. Sasuke must like to rag on me at home if he knows my name.

"Itachi Uchiha."

I state it as a reluctant fact, making it clear that I'm not glad he's him and I'm me.

"And Kisame Hoshigaki," 'Jaws' inserts, sounding impatient. He pushes my head with the dark muzzle and I grit my teeth, knowing instinctually that big blue would really rather shoot me than arrest me. "Now that we're all well acquainted and shit--" the clink of hand-cuffs is loud in my ears "--hands on the wall and spread 'em, Shrimp. Just like the movies."

The ally wall is rough brick that scrapes my palms as he systematically pats me down, removing the gun and ammo and pulling my arms back one at a time to cuff.

If I ever see Gaara again, I'm taking a knife and cutting pretty shapes into his skin until his flesh matches his hair.


	7. Weasles, Sharks, Foxes and fun

Itachi says nothing and Kisame giggles as they load me into their personal car.

What, no cages? Big white van? Plexi-glass? _Bars?_

Weird.

Itachi takes the wheel and Kisame sits next to me, gun _still_ pressed to my temple.

I guess having a deranged shark man point a gun at you is usually enough to keep suspects contained.

"Wait 'til we get you to the station, kid! We've got a few friends who've been waiting _weeks_ to get a hold of one of Shukaku's runts."

I ignore Mr. Trigger-Fins and glare pointedly at the driver.

"I hate to ask, but I gotta know before I worry about much else--are you going to tell Sasuke about this?"

He looks at me through the rear-view mirror and I'm impressed that he can make my hackles rise without his full face.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't tell him?"

"Uh...because he's a bastard that's made my life hell and will use this to make Dante's Purgatory seem nice."

He raises an eyebrow in vague disbelief. "_You_ have read the works of Dante?"

I smile sweetly. "And without my teachers jamming books up my ass, too."

"Bet you'd like it, though," laughs Kisame.

"Charming company for an Uchiha."

"I would not be critiquing my company considering who you take orders from."

"I can hear you smirking you inbred bastard!"

I think the Uchihas must have done me wrong in another life; why else would it be impossible for me to keep calm in the presence of their DNA?

He just watches me through the rear view mirror, paying so little attention to the road that every turn we take makes me consider what my final words should be.

"So, tell me Uchiha--what's your family doing funding the police department? Trying to get the law to look the other way when your kids come to school with bruises? Or are you trying to buy your way into controlling the city? Because if that's why you're trying to pick on gang members, you should know you're not getting anything out of me. I don't know anything--**Except who your mother fucked last night!"**

There is silence in the car and I can see my horrified expression behind Itachi's reflection.

_Fuck! What the hell was that about?_

**He he he! **

_Damnit, Kyuubi! What are you playing at?!_

**You mean you can't smell it brat? Their evil thickening the air--lingering in their clothes and skin? I'd thought the look in their eyes would have been familiar enough to you by now.**

_If there's anything _evil _in this car it's you! You've gotten pretty dull if you're starting to smell your own stench._

**Just chill runt and let me take over this show, hm?**

_Do I have a choice?_

**Not anymore.**

He sounds far too amused for my own comfort and like that I loose control in a wash of red and cruel laughter.

Most people would find a conversation like that a bit unnerving (discounting the whole talking-to-an-evil-voice-in-your-head thing), thinking me delusional for believing in "evil smells" and the like. But when the murderer in you tends to manifest itself in the form of a vicious red fox, you learn to trust the more--ahem--animalistic sides of yourself.

What, you think I _enjoy_ hunting people like rabbits?

The truth is, everything has a distinct smell--trashcans always smell a bit like burnt coffee and rotten meat, kindness always smells like sugar and too-strong perfume, and fear smells (to me) like a thick slab of meat, extra rare.

Evil smells like egg yokes being cooked. Don't ask me why.

Unfortunately for me, Kyuubi is right--these guys may be cops, but there is no justice in them, only the cool, solidity of power and the thirst for more.

The car smells like omelets and I wonder how I missed it.

Funny--Sasuke doesn't have his brother's scent. All I've ever gotten off him is the bitter tang of hate and anger tinged with the salty smell of sadness.

I never liked it.

Kyuubi contorts my face into the same look Gaara wore not half an hour ago.

Kisame grunts and presses the barrel harder against my face, moving it back to rest against the spot just behind my ear. Itachi still isn't watching the road.

**"So...Itachi Uchiha, hm?"** Kyuubi purrs.

"Hey, Itachi; what's up with this anchovy?"

Itachi ignores his partner, watching me intently.

"You're not Uzumaki, are you?" he asks and Kyuubi throws my head back to laugh hysterically.

**"What do you think?" **He licks my lips and draws the tip of his tongue along the edge of my canines for emphasis.

"Is Uzumaki crazy then?"

**"Are you?" **he mocks and Itachi pulls over.

"Itachi--?"

"Shut up, Kisame."

**"Oooh--did I hit a nerve?"**

Itachi turns in his seat to look at me and he and Kyuubi lock eyes in a battle of midnight black and high-noon blue.

His eyes remind me of scalpels and I feel like I am the frog.

I can almost imagine what Itachi thinks he's seeing: the glint of a hidden madness, the high-haze of a lingering adrenaline rush, the uncertainty of a young idiot who's gotten himself in too much trouble. But then his expression changes oh so slightly, and I know he's trying to dig deeper.

Maybe he'll see a young child who's been left all alone, or an angry ten-year-old who watches happy birthday parties at parks with envy, or a broken-hearted teenager who's just realized he's never going to get the girl.

I wonder if he'll realize there's something more than all that and try to look underneath the underneath? He looks smart.

**"Come on, you bastard. You're not stupid--what do you think you see in me?"**

Itachi's eyes narrow fractionally and the feeling of being dissected resumes. He's digging, deeper and deeper and deeper, past all the parts that are me and all the parts that are Kyuubi until finally--

His face goes wide-eyed in a shocked way that looks unnatural on his stony face.

Some guys like him and Gaara just shouldn't have expressions.

"You have a..._greatness_ in you."

Kyuubi snorts. **"No shit, Sherlock."**

Kisame has apparently had enough of being ignored and sounds grumpy when he says, "Itachi! What the hell is going on? Are we taking the brat in or killing him?!"

Itachi turns around and starts the car again.

"Neither."

"WHAT?!"

He looks at me again in through the rear-view mirror.

"Kisame. Let him go."

"But--!"

"Do it."

Reluctantly, suspiciously, the blue man takes the gun away.

"Uzumaki--"

**"Kyuubi," **he corrects.

"Kyuubi. Get out. Go home."

**"Letting a suspect go without questioning? My, my, what naughty coppers we have with us today!"**

"Get out before I change my mind."

Kyuubi laughs but gets me out on Itachi's side and the man rolls down his window just a crack.

"We'll be in touch."

**"Whatever suits you, bastard."**

They drive away, but not before I've heard Kisame whining about loosing a good catch.

What is up with that guy and fish?

By the time their tail lights have faded into the darkness, Kyuubi has climbed back behind his walls and gone to sleep, more than pleased with the turn of the night.I can finally feel how cold it is on my skin and I shiver, wishing for a jacket.

I look around and curse so loud several birds flee from a tree.

I have no idea where I am.

* * *

"Itachi? You want to fill me in on what happened back there?"

The young Uchiha is silent for a moment, considering his words carefully.

"I looked into him."

"And saw..._what, _exactly?"

"As I said; greatness. Dormant, but present."

Kisame was baffled. "That's it? You let him go because you saw that he has a little carisma?"

"Yes."

Kisame was all but impressed. Pissed, angry, anxious, and irritated at the idea of explaining what happened to their suspect, but not impressed.

"There had to have been something else--you've seen that sort of thing in a ton of guys! What's so different about one little brat?"

Itachi hesitated--actually _hesitated!_--sending off at least five alarms in Kisame's spiky blue head. Tenderly, his hand reached beneith his tall coller to stroke the curling _KS_ that lay there.

"Itachi...what is it?"

"I looked into him and I saw..."

"What?"

"I saw change."


	8. And the Hit List gets Longer

Gaara calls me up around Sunday to check if I'm still alive and I can just imagine what a fit everyone must be throwing over there.

"No. I'm not a squealer and yes, I was caught and no, I wasn't arrested."

"Why?" Gaara seriously needs to take some cough syrup or some throat lozenges or _something_ for that voice.

"There are some seriously fucked up cops out there."

He takes a breath as if to ask more but I guess he thought better, telling me he'll see me in a day or two and hangs up before I can ask.

Something about a pity party he has to go squish.

I don't get him sometimes.

I spend most of the morning slipping in and out of consciousness with a warm cup of tea in one hand and a decrepit copy of Kafka's _Metamorphosis _in the other. A possible load of laundry sits at my feet and I debate the pros and cons of dragging up the energy to go to the laundry-mat.

Three floors of stairs vs. clean clothes.

Tricky...

RIIIIIING! RIIIIIIING! RIIIIIING!

I really don't want to move...maybe I'll just ignore it and let the answering machine get it...

RIIIIIIIIIIIG! RIIIIIIING! RIIIIIING!

Oh. Yeah. I don't have an answering machine. I forgot--I'm poor.

RIIIIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIIG! RIIIIIIIING!

Guess I better get it.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! _RIIIIIIIIIING!!_

Is it just me, is the phone getting _louder_ and more _irritable?_ Can phones _do_ that?

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIIII--

"Hello?"

"BRAT! What took you so long to pick up?!"

Now I know why the phone seemed to have a personality. Tsunade was channeling her anger into the rings.

"Sorry. What's up?"

"_'Sorry?'_ That's all you have to say for yourself? What kind of person doesn't answer their phone until the _fifteenth_ _ring?!"_

"It was too far away?" I guess she's forgone the tranquilizers today.

"I ought to go over there and kick your scrawny blond ass into next year for that!"

No wonder I was so reluctant to answer. Here's to self-preservation instincts! May they be stronger in the future!

"Did you call to nag or for an actual reason?"

She huffs and for the second time today I hear someone change their mind about something. "Nope. Not a thing."

Bull shit.

"How's Sakura?" I can almost hear her flinch, but she doesn't let it take the smooth control out of her voice.

"Stable, for the moment. She came home late from a party glowing like a neon sign and took a morning-after pill with her granola. I think Sasuke must be in a good mood this week."

This is punishment for arguing with her--I know it. She's bringing up this stuff to get under my skin.

It's working.

I grind my knuckles against the edge of the kitchen table hard enough it could bruise a different man.

"Why'd you call, Tsunade? Tell me now or hang up; I'm busy."

She calls my bluff with a laugh. "If you're busy, my boobs are real."

"Oh really? Prove it--you don't know me."

She's probably raising an eyebrow at that. Tsunade is one of the few people who _would_ know me.

"How's your Kafka fairing?"

I involuntarily move the tea stained pages behind me as if she could see through the phone.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sure."

"Look--I said I'm busy, so speak your peace or hold it 'til death."

She weighs her words carefully. "How fast can you be at the train station in Vallor District?"

"Uh...three hours, give or take?"

"Well shit, kid; you've got ninety minutes."

"What?!"

"Well you would have had more time if you'd picked up _last night_ but I guess there's no point in asking where you were now."

"What's this about? What's at the train station?"

"If you want it bad enough--your future."

* * *

I can't believe this. I'm half tempted to get out now and take my chances with the rush hour traffic. I can barely breathe and the guy next to me smells like a trash can. A baby starts wailing near the back while a wannabe gangster dances to music that _everyone_ can hear.

Let me tell you something about public transportation; it's crowded and smelly and everyone is rude and irritable and no one understands proper seat etiquette.

Take thirty-something anchovies and stick them in a matchbox and make every single one of them have a bad day. Now put them in motion and watch them try and keep their balance by holding onto little rope loops and metal poles they can bang their heads against and spill their coffee or soda or breast milk or what-not all over people.

_That_, is public transportation on a good day.

Another idiot gets on the bus and finds a spot in front of me, inadvertently stepping on my foot.

Hard.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" I can't help but shout.

What kind of jack ass wears _cleats_ around a city?!

"Sorry man," he mumbles and tries to make himself look very, very small.

"Watch you're mouth back there! No swearing on my bus, mister!" The bus driver's voice is like a Chihuahua on helium. Did he skip puberty or something?

Not ten minutes later the trashcan man is drooling on my shoulder.

He's not even asleep.

"Hey. Buddy. Get off."

Nothing. He's got this stupid expression on his face like a love...sick...puppy...

I wave my hand in front of his eyes and all he does is giggle and gurgle.

Charming.

"Whoops!" A suit-and-tie trips and the next thing I know there is _scalding. Hot. Starbucks. On my leg. _

"SHIIIIIIT! OWWWW!"

"What'd I just say buddy?! Watch you're language! There are kids on this bus!"

"Ha-ha-haaaaa!" I grip the leg of my pants where I swear my skin is being liquidized. I whimper incredulously.

Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-iiiiie...

As if to punish me for all the evil things I've ever thought about doing, at the next stop an athletic guy with a cell phone glued to his ear and two ladies on the hefty side march on board and force everyone into even closer confines. The athlete with a developing tumor by his ear (he's probably getting enough radiation from that phone to spawn toad men) seems to have tuned his vocal chords to a bellowing A-sharp in _Fortissimo _Piccolo.

The heavy ladies are chattering something obnoxious in Portuguese or Spanish or whatever and I can barely breathe between McDrool and four other offenders. Someone gets on in the back and now I can't even move my wrist to check the time.

Dammit, Tsunade! She had to dangle Namikaze's _teacher_ in front of me like that...

_

* * *

_

"What are you talking about, Hag?"

_"Keep talking like that and I'm not telling you jack-shit."_

_I keep my mouth sealed for a moment. But _just_ a moment._

_"You remember the old colleague of mine we talked about? The one who taught Minato Namikaze?"_

_"How could I forget?" No, seriously--how could I forget? Namikaze's been my idol since I could read._ _"You promised me a sit down with him."_

_"Yeah. About that. He's leaving the country in about four hours."_

_Excuse me?_

_"What?!"_

_"You've got an hour and a half to catch him at the train station or you're shit out of luck. He's headed straight to the airport immediately after, to a sunny little villa in Tahiti. Get to him before that, because I can promise you you're never going to see an opportunity like this again."_

_I grab the nearest Sharpie and start scribbling on my arm. "Name, description, and what I'm supposed to say to this 'Legendary Writer' to get him to stay." I doubt any bigwig scholar is going to listen to a scruffy brat like me._

_She chuckles and my hackles rise. How does she _do_ that?_

_"Trust me kid. You don't need to say anything yourself. Just relay this..."_

* * *

"I _know,_ Mary--isn't it _insane?!_" My ears just tuned into the athletic-cell-guy. "There are _so _many sequins on her dress it just--uh! It just sparkles!"

God help me but I think cell phone guy just bumped it up a notch. And in a southern accent, too.

"I _know! _How droll was her _dress?!_"

Well, what do you know? The Village People lost their cowboy.

"Ah! No WAY! SERIOUSLY?! THAT IS _SO_ FETCH!"

That's it. I give.

"HEY! ASS HOLE! THAT'S MY _EAR_ YOU'RE SCREAMING IN YOU BASTARD!"

Take _that_ Mr. Volume control.

"Watch it buster," the bus driver yells, "One more swear out of you and you are OFF this bus! You hear me?!"

"Yeah, yeah."

Cowboy is just staring at me like I asked to screw him in the back of the bus; scandalized and tempted.

"Well, _excuse_ me!"

We all shift to the side so a woman and her stroller of twins can get off. Now the heavy women are blocking the bell.

My stop approaches and--_shit!_ I can't reach it!

By the time I've hit the yellow tape, we've gone past it.

"Stop, please!" Dammit, I don't have time for this.

"Sorry, kid." No he's not. "That was our last stop until the transfer station."

I think I just got my first whiff of dread. It smells like butter.

As I approach the edge of a critical-panic-overload, I begin weighing the pros and cons of screaming until I'm blue. We're moving further and further from the best shortcut in town and if we get too far, there'll soon be no point in any of this.

Dammit dammit dammit! I just want to let it all out!

...Wait...That might not be such a bad idea...

I look around--at least six kids are within range of this.

Taking a deep breath, I ready myself, getting as close to the driver as possible.

"MOTHER FUCKING SON-OF-A-BITCH!"

As if on-que the bus dives to the side and Captain Helium reaches through the crowd and puts a vice grip on the front of my shirt. The driver then proceeds to turn me into an airborne sack of sand and hurls me off the bus.

"AND STAY OFF, YA FOUL MOUTHED SCUM!"

Psh. Hypocrite.

The bus takes off (without me, thank god) and I cast it a two-finger salute.

Good riddance.

I rise with a relieved fashion fit for soldiers who've just been told their going home after a war. My skin itches where the pavement touched and I glance at my watch.

3:43

I have fifteen minutes.

* * *

The rush to the shortcut becomes a hazy blur of people shouting as I push them aside, car horns honking and screeching to a halt, and guys popping out of manholes in time to get a face full of shoe as I use them to leap away.

I want it to be noted that I ran almost three miles _non-stop,_ in twelve minutes, and I'm panting like a St. Bernard in summer.

Now I have three to find him.

The train station platform is busy, but if I stand on a bench I can still pick out a few prospects. Tsunade said his looks are as eclectic as him.

_"White hair as crazy as "Doc's" from Back to the Future but longer and red lines on his face that make him look like he's crying blood. He should be flirting with some hot piece of ass."_

_"And when I find him?"_

_"Tell him I said: 1U2G6G5H9Q 2J2K1N 0Y7V3X 4W4X2W3S6O9M 4T1F1S0V. 0T2J3H1Z4V12Q 2Q2P 3W3R 3B7V1V. 0Y11Z1V 10W2W2U1U 5H4S200E 1I1P1N6K, 2Q1S 9N12X3V5J." _

_"Huh?"_

_"Trust me kid, he'll get it."_

* * *

Sure as shit, there's a guy in a suit that looks like a knock-off Armani chatting up a stewardess at the steps of the Number 2 train. I think I have just enough air to holler.

"Jiraiya Sannin!"

He turns to me and for some reason, his face gets very pale.

What could he be seeing?

He wanders over to me slowly, always keeping his eyes locked on me and his expression fixed in wary disbelief. He doesn't even notice when his train pulls away.

When he finally stands before me, I notice that there must be sunlight screwing with my hair because his eyes are reflecting the glowing profile of an angel.

"Minato?" he asks carefully.

Huh? I shake my head, still panting. I feel a bit light-headed.

"N-no," I pant. "Naruto...Uzumaki." A hint of realization in his eyes. I stick out my arm with the message on it. It's a little smudged but legible. "Tsunade Hokage...pant...said to...huff...give this...to you." Dammit--still haven't caught my breath. "She said you'd...understand...?"

He drags me off the bench and looks at my arm like a doctor holds a fracture. "Hm... Do you know what this is?"

He waves my arm a bit, ignoring my breathing.

"Nuh...uh. It's just...gibberish..."

"Hm..." He looks at me with dark eyes that belie something...strong, and even a little wise, and I have to fight hard to keep Kyuubi hushed up. "Naruto, huh?" He smiles conspiratorially. "What do you want from me?"

I think I'm hyperventilating.

"I'm...not really sure...I guess I want...to learn..." Things are getting blurry and I can feel my balance waver. "Will you...teach me to...change the world?"

My legs crumple beneath me and I can almost make out a man in the distance. He's pale and clad in dark clothes and shadows. There's a bulge of something in his coat and a red emblem glares from his chest.

Three dark marks on a red annulus.

...U...chi...ha...?

My vision tips and things go dark.

* * *

"You really ought to get in shape if you plan on running after me very often."

What a lovely introduction back into the waking world. Now whom do I have to hit?

"Ugh...What happened?" The station blinks back into focus with notable reluctance and there is a tingling in my hands. I seem to be laying on a bench while the crazy writer guy looms over me.

I look to my left and the man--Uchiha--is gone.

"You passed out from hyperventilation. Really kid--you couldn't have asked Tsunade for my cell phone?"

...Oh...no...Did I just--

_"Cell phone?"_

He pulls out a blackberry and looks at me sympathetically. "Don't tell me she didn't tell you? I never go anywhere without it--Tsunade knows that better than anyone."

...For this, she is going to die, and there will definitely be torture involved.

I wonder what would happen if you switched botox with hair-gel?

"So you're her new victim, huh?" He shakes his head pityingly. "I was wondering who she'd pick on when I left. Guess she decided Minato's brat was a fitting replacement."

Wait--Minato's _what_? My ears are a bit stuffy since I ran out of q-tips, so I might have misheard but--

"What did you say?"

He gives me an odd look and shakes his head. "Never mind. Not important. Did she tell you what that code on your arm was for?"

"No. I thought you might get it but--" Well jeez, what do I say now?

"Not surprised. It's an old code we used when we were young. You take the number before each letter and go back up the alphabet however many letters it says from the letter in front of it."

I just look at him. He sighs.

"Like this--1U2G6G5H9Q. One up from U is T. Two up from G is E. Six up from G is A. Five up from H is C. And nine up from Q is H. Get it?"

"Uh...yeah. I guess. Seems like an awful lot of trouble for a message. What does it say?"

"Oh, just something of her usual repertoire. It turns out to be, 'Teach him you stupid perv.'"

Kyuubi is almost breathless with laughter.

**Congrats, runt; you're the most gullible shrimp since your school counselor believed that bull about being friends with Uchiha. **

_Shut it, fur ball. _

Kyuubi snickers and is silent. There is a moment of digestion between Jiraiya and I, as we ponder the details of our sudden introduction.

The older man claps his big hands together, and I notice that they are calloused from more than just thumbing through pages. He rubs them together, obviously nervous from the quiet and I sit up to get a better look at him.

He wears a tie with dancing toads and frogs but I choose to be quiet about it.

"So, Mr. Uzumaki, I bet you're just dying to begin you're studies!"

I shrug. "I guess. I'm not actually sure what you're supposed to teach me, so..."

"What?!" He looks hurt and offended. "You mean you didn't hear _I_ was teaching you and immediately swoon in ecstasy?!"

It's very hard to keep a straight face right now. "Actually, I've never heard of any of your work. You're a political writer, right?"

"_Ex-_Political _Activist,_brat. Keep your facts straight. I am now a proud connoisseur of the refined varieties of voluptuous profiles of the opposite gender and an endorser of the artistic applications of the karma-sutra and video and photography."

"So...basically you're a perv and a porn director."

"Porn director _and _screen writer."

Old people are great--they just give up on modesty after a while.

"So, you've _never _heard of the great Toad Sage of Modern Literature?"

"'Toad Sage of Modern Literature?' Did you give yourself that name or was it a sad joke that stuck?"

"Hurumph!"

He leaps to his feet and onto the bench and I have to dive to the ground to avoid being trampled by surprising platform heel boots. He strikes a ridiculous pose on one foot with his hands motioning for something to stop and his back hunched as he grins ridiculously. Horrifying as this moment is, it's nothing to what I feel as he starts hopping to the side up and down the bench, randomly grabbing his hair by the two locks at his cheeks and swinging his pony tail in a long windmill.

"I am the most respected master of the written word in the entire known universe and the entire known world!"

"Universe includes the world," I call to him, giving into my urges to taunt and torture old know-it-all-egomaniacs.

He straightens suddenly and calls to the heavens, "The greatly endowed Princess Tsunade has sent this peasant child to be my peon and gain wisdom from a disciple of the gods. Praise me, oh short-blond-boy and gaze with adoration at what you may dream to become!"

...I'm going to be the disciple of the reincarnation of an escaped mental patient.

Tsunade really _will_ die for this.

* * *

When I get home, there is one thing that bugs me enough to pull out a piece of paper and write down the alphabet and the code on my arm.

Ten minutes later leaves my stomach tightening.

The first part of the message _does_ say, "Teach him you stupid perv," but as I suspected, that's not all I have passed on.

The rest of it is far more ominous...

_They're on to you. You must come home, or else._


	9. Dealing with the Devil

_"Naruto?"_

_I look to my left where a boy with dark eyes and deep ambition mulls over one of many problems that float through his life. His name is Sasuke, and he could be my friend._

_"What is it now?"_

_He looks down at his perfectly cooked, formed, and cut triangle of tuna and mayo as though it has offended him. "Why don't people look at you when you smile at them?"_

_I want to ask, "Why are you asking _me_ this, when you don't look either?" What I say instead is, "You know why."_

_He is silent, thinking about that._

_"Is it because of...your eyes?"_

_"Huh?"_

_"...Naruto...you're _special,_ aren't you?"_

_Excuse me?! "Bastard! I am _not_ retarded!"_

_I receive a blow to the side and my milk spills with my shift. I frown and consider making him get me a new one. That might lead to fighting, and with us that seems to work well._

_We smile when we fight._

_"Moron. I didn't mean _that_ kind of special."_

_"Than what?" He frowns some more, throwing his tuna away in a fit. I sigh at both the waste of good food I rarely see and at the tell-tale signs of a Sasuke Fit. "Look, Sasuke--why don't we just drop it already and I can kick your ass for some more milk money. Or the rest of your lunch--either way."_

_This time I get a slap--open handed _slap_ for Christ's sake--and I'm stunned silent by the blow._

_Sasuke is the only one who could shut me up so well. _

_"Would you just stop it?! For Gods' sakes how stupid do you think I am? You think I haven't been listening--watching you?" He jumps off the steps and moves to stand before me like a lecturer in a hall of students._

_I fight the urge to cry at the look at his face--I know what those bitter eyes are saying._

Time's up, Naruto. Wake-y, wake-y to the real world.

_"You're special--you stand out and do..._things_ to people that make them fear you, or want you, or hate you without any reason." He runs his hands through his hair, angry and frustrated for lack of a reasonable (or rational) explanation. "For as long as I've known you I've always been better--better grades, better clothes, better looks, better luck. Better _life_, damnit! And yet every time I beat you, there's no satisfaction."_

_I swallow, and inject a synthetic anger into my voice. "And that's my fault?!" I don't _want_ to be angry at him. Suddenly I feel very small--very young. I feel like the child I am for the first time in a long while, and I scan my peripheral vision for Iruka--Kiba--_anyone_ to hide behind. I don't want to face this yet. _

_"It's your fault because you're the cause of it! I beat the others as much as you and every time I know that my father is right--I am an Uchiha, and I will always be the best! But you--"_

_He looks at a loss for words._

_A challenge rises in me, and I can't tell if it's mine or Kyuubi's. "I '_what'_ Sasuke? What do I do?!"_

_A flash of a little boy who's gotten lost is in his eyes before it's replaced by a resigned despair. "You make me feel like every time you lose, you've won something _better_. And I want that--whatever it is. I want it more than I can bear."_

_There is silence between us, and even the voices of from the cafeteria are muted. The world pauses, and for that moment, we are just boys trying to find a fixed common ground to make up for a childhood of hate._

_He could have been my friend. We could have had it all._

_The moment passes, and my heart feels cold. "So what now?"_

_He breathes deeply. "I don't know. I guess...something has to change...right?"_

_I fiddle with my hands, avoiding looking directly at him. He wants me to lead us into the first steps of a vicious circle, and Kyuubi is glad to oblige._

_"I think...I think we won't be fighting like this. Not anymore."_

_"Never?" He sounds disappointed. He's not alone._

_I shake my head. "There's no room for it. Not between us."_

_There is a long silence as he digests that, and I wonder for a moment how he thought this all would end. Maybe he thought we could manage hating each other without sacrifice. Maybe he thought hate wouldn't be a part of it at all._

_But I am a realist--I expected nothing less._

_"Couldn't you share it?" he asks. The last hope he has before his destiny kicks in. "Couldn't you share that special-ness--teach it to me? Couldn't you teach me how to win?"_

_I tell him no. "It doesn't work like that."_

_"...Oh. I see."_

_The hope is gone from him, and I search his eyes for the cruelty that I see in everyone else. Ah! There it is--hiding behind the first dustings of disgust._

_It smells like burnt paper and raw coffee beans._

_He stiffens his jaw and collects his remaining lunch, not looking at me, not speaking, though I don't take my eyes from him._

_I feel that we are men now. Silently grown up and as immature in our grudges as any other adult out there._

Why did you have to spoil it? It's too soon--too soon! We could have stopped this!

_As he leaves, he spits before my feet and I feel a change in my face. _

_That night, I find my paste-on-grin is gone. _

* * *

"Hey there, Goldfish."

I mean to say, "I'm in the middle of lunch," but with a mouthful of noodles, it sounds more like, "Mm n mimm ah unche."

Fish man pulls a face.

"Swallow or spit it out kid; either way, you aint eating lunch here."

I push the food down my esophagus and bite back the tears that well up at the stretch. "What are you talking about?"

"Itachi want's a word. Now. So toss the food and let's go."

He gestures to the car sitting outside my favorite Oriental place about a block from the school, and I give him a look before turning back to my noodles.

I'm hungry.

"Let's go, krill."

"No. Lunch first, Uchiha-bastard second."

A barrel pushes into my back in a moment of almost-de ja vue, and my back stiffens.

"I said move, jellyfish."

I stand and follow the push of his gun in my side wondering why no one's started screaming--this is a fairly public place. "Technically, you told me to go; there was no moving mentioned. I could have very easily assumed you meant to go in my pants."

Not suave, I'll admit, but better to tickle this fish's funny bone than scratch his raw nerve. He escorts me to the sleek jaguar the color of tarnished nickel and I feel a sharp resentment as I recall the worn-out paths I've killed my sneakers on.

Rich, blue-blooded bastards.

When we've gotten into the _chauffeured_ car (gods-sake--I always knew the rich were lazy but can't they drive their own cars?), Kisame pulls the gun out of my back and tosses it to the side, but not before I see it and curse.

He was holding a curling iron to my vertebra.

"What happened Jaws--couldn't get your hair to cooperate with you so you decided to control innocent civilians?"

I get a disturbing gurgling-growl back and wisely shut my mouth for the rest of the trip.

_

* * *

_

Le Café du grand

.

Literally translates to _The Cafe of the Great_.

I'm not sure if this is Itachi's idea of a joke or bad irony.

The place is fancy enough that the moment I step in the door the little man with an up-turned nose steps from behind his podium to say something, but Kisame is right behind me and all he can do is sigh and escort us to a private table in the back where Itachi lurks over a glass of red wine.

I notice Kisame stands away from us like a sentry--guarding against eavesdroppers. Even waiters are avoiding the area.

Who does he think cares--the fashion police? Oh yes--I can just see them bursting in now; flashing badges and demanding to know _what_ I was thinking with my neon orange shirt and camo-pants, because they _so_ clash with my hair and make my eyes look _totally _drab.

God help us, but now I actually half expect the Fab Five to run in here at any moment and whisk me away.

Still, even I know what might be assumed by a meeting between me and the mysterious top-notch detective and heir to the Uchiha throne. I admit even I think this whole thing looks suspicious--and _I'm_ the supposed criminal!

He stands courteously to shake hands without greetings and we sit in synchronization. He looks me over and I keep my peripheral vision locked on his hands. He could be here to offer me something, or poison me--I really have no idea either way. But I've learned from experience that anyone close to Sasuke is usually at least half-rotten to the core if not molding in the heart and/or brain.

I'm not going to be the one to instigate conversation--the only one I want to talk to is someone who can bring me a bread basket and some complimentary after dinner mints.

My stomach growls.

See, _this_ is why I didn't want to leave my fucking noodles!

Finally, he speaks. "So. You came."

I shake my head. "No I didn't. I've sent an android that's reciting everything I tell it on a radio from a broken down car across the street."

He doesn't look impressed with my brilliant sarcastic wit. I didn't expect him to be.

"I suppose you've been wondering why I let you go during our last encounter?"

"Just a little bit."

He traces one slim fingertip around the edge of the fine glass and I am reminded of the equally fine line we are both treading--him between what I suppose he'd _like_ to do and what he is expected to do as a cop and a business man, and myself between the decisions within myself and my world.

The glass rings eerily.

"I have heard rumors that you made contact with a relic from the tomes of the Reform."

"He's springy as hell for a relic."

"What do you think of him?"

I shift in my chair, suddenly uncomfortable. "He's...inquisitive."

Inquisitive is putting it mildly.

_

* * *

_

"Tell me, brat--where are your parents?"

_"You tell me. You'd know about as much as I do, I'm sure."_

_"Hm...So how do you know Tsunade?"_

_"Aunt of a friend. You?"_

_He grins ridiculously. "Let's just say we've gotten to know each other _very well_ over the years."_

_Ewe. "So what have you written?"_

_He puffs up proudly like a toad. "Essays!"_

_I raise a brow. "Essays."_

_"Yep!"_

_"Is that it?"_

_"What do you mean, 'is that it?!'"_

_"I mean exactly what I say."_

_"What's wrong with essays?!"_

_"I was hoping for something a little...longer." Man, this guy is just one let down after another. _

_"I'll have you know I wrote 62 essays for the Reform that were celebrated throughout _all_ corners of the Konoha Society!"_

_Aw, shit--he's got me there. And by the look on his face, he knows it._

_"You really wrote for the KS?"_

_He gives me a blindingly sparkly white grin that would put Lee to shame. "You better believe it kiddo. I was right up there with the best of the best and I set some of the greatest on their feet too."_

_"Tsunade _mentioned_ you gave _advice_ to Namikaze."_

_"Of course I did--I practically raised that boy--taught him everything I knew."_

_"That would explain his early demise then, now wouldn't it?"_

_His eyes go cold. _

_"So. You're a fan of the KS?"_

_"You could say that..."_

_"Why?"_

_"My reasons are my own."_

_"Then so are my teachings."_

_I huff and cross my arms. _

_"They were crushed before their time. This country could have been a great nation under their words. But now we'll never get to see them in action." I look him directly in the eye. "That's all you get to know for now."_

_The grin returns. "For now."_

* * *

"The Toad will be a great influence in your work. I look forward to watching its progress."

Huh?

He pulls out the latest copy of _ANBU_ and I eye it like a ticking bomb.

"I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty to do a little research on your...friend, Kyuubi. He has some rather _controversial_ political points, as demonstrated by this article in particular." He thumbs open the magazine and starts to read aloud.

"I quote--

_It is my understanding that in the time since September 11th opened our eyes to the ongoings of the rest of the world, America has set in motion the growth of seeds--planted by our own hands generations ago--that will become the weeds that choke our country to death." _

He smirks and I can hear Kyuubi growl.

"How...bold, of you. Ever since they brought back Alien and Sedation Act, it's rare to see such outright _irritation_ with the government."

"What can I say? Kyuubi has no particular fondness for civil obedience."

"From your association with Sabaku, I could see that."

I recline and he rests his chin on a bridge of laced fingers.

"So--you going to tell me what you want or can I leave?"

A twitch that could be a frown or a grin tugs at his lips. "You hate my brother--yes?"

"Very much."

"Good. And as I hate my entire family, I think we may have a bit of...common ground."

"I'm listening."

"I propose...an alliance."


	10. The Man Behind the Curtain is Bald

**Note for old readers:** You will need to re-read most everything to get some of the references because I reposted everything.

**Warnings:** Strait or gay fans take note—there _will_ be _allusions_ to guy-on-guy but this will be a minor part of the story and I will _not_ be going into details (This goes out to all rabid Yaoi-fanatics. Chapter five was as good as you're getting!). You don't have to bolt from my work just because that little detail makes you uncomfortable and I will be placing warnings before chapters that have it. I have already scared my beta with it, and I would like to avoid scaring anyone else.

Even if it's _really_ funny to shock people.

**AN: **I don't like this chapter—it's long winded, out of my comfort zone, and all of my characters feel OOC. Well, more so than usual. Take note, I will be paying _close _attention to any reviews that offer genuine criticism on style, voice, or any other detail I may have missed so far.

Thanks and sorry for the troubles.

* * *

Chapter 10: The Man Behind the Curtain is Bald

"Blerch-ugh-a-hough-gacht-guwe!"

I think Sakura's given up on suicide. Now all she wants is pain, and I get a front row seat.

If only there was popcorn...

I turn off the hose I'd been pouring over her face--ice cold water is good for waking fever-delirious people up, despite the side-effect of almost drowning them.

She fidgets a little, still too weak from her infection to do much else. Her arms are a mess--barbed wires cutting into pale skin with red lines crawling towards her shoulders. Puss oozes around the dark lines. All of this a sharp contrast to the frilly pink party dress I know for a fact she had wanted for months.

She remains somehow perfect, if only to me.

"Where the fuck is Tsunade for this?! Are you two hell bent on making me a permanent fixture at your side or what?!"

I'd bet anything she knew how hard it would be to get help discreetly and she's laughing at my attempts from some half-awake part of her mind. Well, fuck her. This time I can't do this on my own. She needs some _real_ help, not just a boy with a lingering love and a box of bandages.

I haul her to her feet and drag her to the sleek Ferrari that should have been wrecked the day oil prices hit 14.95 a gallon.

"Nn...nooo..." she moans, and I guess she knows what I'm thinking. "Nnoo hospi...alll-echs..." she cuts off with a choked cough and I push her over the side and into the back, thankful for the convertible style.

"Time to go, babe," I "sooth" her, and take my place in the front where I remember her keeping spare keys. The machine starts up smoothly, muffling the beginnings of her desperate sobs. "This isn't between us anymore."

* * *

When I round the corner of the school come Tuesday, I am confronted with a sight that surprises me, but not in the way most would expect.

For once, Neji has forgone ruining Lee's self esteem, and his hands rein down on the back of a girl a few years older than either of us.

"You foolish whore!" The girl's face is already red from where he must have slapped her, but he pays this no mind and makes a violent cracking noise against her cheek. "Do you have any idea what this would do to us?! To our family! Stupid, stupid, stupid little slut!"

Dark, bluntly strait hair frames a pale face while telltale white eyes introduce us before I have even met her. Hinata Hyuuga--Kiba's damsel in distress.

He's going to be so pissed.

"Yo, Neji!"

He freezes, momentarily horrified at being caught beating the hell out of his cousin, and looks up. The worry in his face is replaced with suspicion—he knows he can keep me quiet, but unsure of what avenue to take; threatening, bribery, or beating?

"Uzumaki. What do you want?"

I shrug, and show him my palms in a pacifying gesture. "Not that it's my problem, but have you considered how her face will look tomorrow if you don't let her go home and fix it? Could be a lot of trouble for you—she probably has friends who ask questions. And if not, the press sure would." The media watches the Hyuuga family like hawks, because they _are_ the biggest trendsetters on the coast.

He considers this but says, "I will take that risk," and raises his hand again. The girl, bent into the ground, flinches.

"Why?" I ask, both to stall and to quench curiosity. I genuinely want to know what could be so important.

"She must be taught a lesson."

I scoff and shake my head. "Take it from me—no lesson is worth having to learn one of your own." He should remember that the brunt of her father's anger will come down on _him_ if their reputation is so much as singed, regardless of what _she's_ done.

Neji keeps his hand at the ready, eyes a little desperate. "What else can I do?!"

"Hand her off to me—I'll clean her up and you're free to go wail on Lee, who happens to be in the gym right now, _totally alone._" Gotta love Moulin Rouge for that line.

Neji can practice his "stoic apathy" look until he's ready to piss himself; I can _still_ see the cruel glitter in his eyes. Much as I am loath to turn an ally over to the hands of his tormenter, the benefits of getting Kiba's girl to him in this condition and looking like a hero to both of them is too tempting to pass up. Lee will just have to suffer a little more. ­

Finally Neji nods and grabs the girl by her arm, half lifting-and-tossing her into my arms, half dragging-and-dropping her. He flees a second later.

I can't even pull her upright—Sakura's curves were never this generous. She struggles to stand and by the time we are eye-level, both of us have to catch our breath.

"W-w-ho—?" she starts but I cut in.

"You're Kiba's girl, right?"

She blushes deeply and I'll take that as a yes.

"W-wha-why did you help me?" she asks, nervously fidgeting and twitching away from my eyes. A blush swells in her cheeks, sending my panic instincts on high alert. I know that reaction, and so I tell her the truth so she can get rid of any potential thoughts of romance.

"I like a happy Kiba better than I like a healthy Lee."

She doesn't know what to say to that.

She pulls herself away from me (smart girl) and takes out a set of keys. "D-d-do you w-want a r-ride? I-I'm going t-to Kiba's."

She has a stutter—I remember Kiba mentioning that he thought it was sweet. I can only guess why—I have no idea why anyone would want to take so much time to hear what she has to say.

"Sure. He owes me some doggie-bags anyhow." She nods and I'm glad she gets it; Kiba's sister is a better cook than Chouji's dad, and always makes too much.

When we get to her car—a convertible, a pile of papers in the foot space of the backseat makes me stop and stare. She loads her school things into the trunk and doesn't notice what I'm holding until she shuts it with a great _thunk_.

She freezes and I shift through a few pages of rough drafts and old works then I hold up the ragged but recent magazine. A torn front page of _The New Yorker_ is still in the foot space.

"You write for _ANBU?_"

She is trapped and she knows it, because like all meticulous writers she dates her work and signs the finished projects—proof of what she alone has accomplished. She swallows and nods slowly, white eyes frightened but sealed to whatever comes next.

I look at the signature on the front page and laugh, because I know her—I have read these words—and I hold out my hand and smile.

"Hello, Gentle Fist. My name is Kyuubi."

* * *

­We drive in companionable silence, exchanging comments from time to time when a thought strikes us, mostly circling around the Banned-Zines and our fellow writers. We wonder about whom they could be or what irks them enough to write. _ANBU_ is not something to take lightly—writing for them can have you imprisoned for twenty years or more. I notice that Hinata's stutter lessens when confident about what she is saying.

Eventually I get curious and ask, "What was your 'lesson' supposed to be for?"

She looks at the road as if contemplating the asphalt. Does she think it can answer for her?

After a long silence, she pulls to a stop in a deserted street and shows me the delicate birthstone ring Kiba bought a few months ago. The emerald of the ring glitters in the afternoon sun.

"He was teaching me not to love a 20/20."

We drive on.

* * *

We pull up before Kiba's family's garage, where dozens of huge but _mostly_ harmless mutt-dogs lounge in the shade of car corpses, most too tired to care for our arrival. They will not attack unless told, and for that we are grateful.

Kiba's legs stick out from the underside of a car too mangled to be salvaged, though I suspect the parts are more what he's after.

The reason for the intimidating dogs is clear--the Inuzuka's chop shop is flourishing.

I wait until we're right next to the car before leaning over the side to honk the horn.

"HOLY SHIT!" he cries and his head connects with the undercarriage of the car. I hear a satisfying _clang_ and grin maliciously. Hinata takes a step away, moving to tend to her boyfriend with wary eyes trained on me.

"K-Kiba, are you a-alright?"

"What the fuck, man?!" he directs at me, bypassing his girlfriend's question to threaten me with a wrench. We both know he won't use it. "What was that for?!"

I smile and he hisses, rubbing his head. "You've got a sick sense of humor, man."

"Stop staring at my hot ass and take care of your girl. I'm raiding your kitchen."

I step over his legs heading for the house. The door closes part way on his swears of anger and I begin the steady process of emptying his house of all extra edible foods.

Hinata's face will be a shocker. Bruises, dirt, mussed hair, and a ruined lip to boot. I tune out their conversation, letting them have their privacy. I drop my bag to the floor, pulling out a first aid kit from the bottom.

In it are some of Tsunade's finest medicinal recipes, passed over the disinterested head of Sakura and into my hands.

I pull out two bottles and a can of ointment and scribble some instructions on a pad on the fridge. Gathering my tower of Tupperware into my backpack, I wait until their voices are calm before heading back to the garage.

Kiba's hands are on the undersides of her face, too scared of brushing a bruise.

He looks at me with deep eyes and she keeps hers on the ground. "Thank you, Naru. I owe you."

I tug his hair as I pass. "I'll remember that."

**Well played, brat.**

I march through the yard feeling the brush of Victory's hands.

* * *

The Sabaku sibs weren't at school for a while after _that night_, but that's to be expected while the police are still alert and wary. Three days ago I got a call from Gaara, and damn but he was pissed.

"_I hear you keep the company of the City's Finest."_

"_Huh?"_

"_Don't play oblivious with me, Uzumaki!" he snarled. "You were seen with Itachi Uchiha—the heir to the entire Uchiha family! He leads the very men who hunt out our kind."_

"_Gaara, we can trust him."_

"_Why the hell—"_

"_He's a 20/20."_

"…_But he's…"_

"_I know. But apparently he's just as crooked as the rest of us."_

"_How can you be sure?"_

"_Let's see—in a row, he's let your guys escape with minimum damage, let me go without a scratch, offered an alliance of sorts between himself and the two of us, and to top it off, he's marked."_

"_Marked? He bares the _KS_?"_

"_He hides his, but yeah. Under all that billowing clothing, he's sporting a Hickey."_

"_Hickey? I don't…understand..."_

"_Something my new teacher mentioned—because KS sounds like Kiss, and you get it tattooed on your neck…"_

"_Just like—"_

"—_A hickey, yeah. Cute, huh?"_

"_Juvenile at best. Are you in contact with the Uchiha?"_

"_I have his card..." So much for changing the topic. "Why?"_

"_Call him. Invite him to a—_conference—_of sorts. _Club Kabuki_. Seven o'clock two nights from now."_

"_And how are _you_ getting us a table at one of the most exclusive clubs in town?"_

"_Kankuro brings in many patrons with his performance. And they pay me very well to keep him there."_

"_Fine. Seven, was it?"_

"_Be there. Both of you."_

* * *

So that was how I wound up at a table with two of the most anti-social, paranoid, and crazed people in town at the back of a club that looks like it hosts for Asian Incubi. There's a techno DJ opening tonight and all three of us clutch a glass of something stronger than soda.

"..._So..._" I start, unsure what to do or say now.

Itachi jumps in with a flawless Japanese accent as he says Gaara's name. "Sabaku Gaara--son of a pair of Japanese immigrants who entered the United States in 2011 with their two children, Sabaku Kankuro and Sabaku Temari. Both parents currently deceased--mother due to suicide encouraged by PMD and father due to..._'mysterious circumstances.'_" He lets that hang in the air with a superior smirk.

Gaara slaps a file onto the table and _glares_.

"Itachi Uchiha. Eldest son of the head of the Uchiha family. Most infamous accomplishment involved the investigation, arrest, and capture of the 20/20 group, the Nine Bijuu of Konoha, who sought to attack one of the most prominent ROOT centers in the country and revitalize the Konoha Society. Political party is strictly ROOT based, but several connections have been made between your bank funds and donations to the rising Liberal Party known as Akatsuki, who's campaign to put Governor Pein in the White House is causing upheavals in the latest political polls. Not exactly the most clean-cut of histories for the heir of a family who lives in the Government's pocket."

Gaara's voice sounds much less _psychotic_ when he's talking business.

Feeling a little left out, I insert my own introduction and their eyes flip towards me.

"Naruto Uzumaki--foster child and future leader of the world, once I find a way to elevate myself in the world. Also, revered writer for _ANBU_ for the past four years. Beat that!"

I know I sound like a six-year-old, but the tension at this table is killing me.

"Well now that everyone admits they've been rooting through each other's dirty laundry, I say we get down to business. Which is--"

"A mutual plan to revive the Konoha Society."

I'm surprised to see Gaara nodding in agreement. Apparently everyone's been giving this a lot of thought.

Makes me reconsider all that time spent giving thought to Sasuke's castration or Temari's impending success in hooking Shika on smack.

"And we would do that..._how_?"

They look at me like I'm stupid. "We will expose the truth to the people," says Gaara.

"Truth? You mean the real stuff behind the Week of Hell?"

"We mean, the _real_ truth behind the _cause_ of the Week of Hell."

Why are they nodding like this is common information? I've never heard it. I've never even imagined it. "Dude, _everyone _knows about the week of hell--a ROOT official's daughter was kidnapped by a radical 20/20 and when fingers got pointed and denial flew, all hell broke loose. Thus earning those days the apt title, 'Week of Hell on Earth.'"

I don't mean to make it sound like I've eaten a history text, but you can read about this shit in the back of _ANBU_ and any number of other Banned Texts.

The Government enthusiastically brainwashed the next generation into believing that particularly violent and unstable protesters caused the riots of the Week over the latest presidential elections.

In the late 2020's Newly elected presidents were regularly recalled, ignored, or impeached within days of inauguration.

"That _you_ of all people buy into that bull shit is the ultimate proof of the corruption of History," says Gaara.

"Huh?"

"While the kidnapping is what _started_ the riots, the truth behind the event has been held secret from the public for almost twenty years," Itachi explains as if telling a child. "With the nomination of Senator Pein as the Liberal party's Presidential Nominee, we are standing on fertile ground to up-root ROOT's influence in the Government and reclaim the freedoms and truths that have been denied us since Namikaze's fall."

"So wait--are you saying the _Government_ is behind the fall of the KS? I thought that was just because ROOT's higher-ups had such affluence in the Conservative circles."

"That's what they want you to believe. Anyone who pays attention to the history pages knows that even _ANBU_'s story has some holes in it."

"Holes?"

"Like the fact that the name of the kidnapped child is never mentioned in _any_ document. Or the name of the 20/20 who supposedly did the deed," says Gaara. "You'll also note that in the archives, it is claimed that ninety-percent of KS members were killed in the riots, but if you cross-check the survivors' names and the names of about half those reported dead with the phone-book, you find that almost all of them are living here, in _this city._"

Suddenly a lot of things aren't sitting so well with me.

"Jiraiya was given a coded letter by one of his old colleagues when I was introduced to him. It said to teach me, but there was another part to it. It said, 'They're on to you. You must come home, or else.'"

"Jiraiya Sannin? Namikaze's earliest reported teacher?" Gaara asks. His non-existent eyebrows are raised high.

"Yeah. Aunt of an ex-friend of mine is an old friend of his."

"This aunt--what's her name?"

"Tsunade Gondaime."

Both men shoot each other looks of alarmed knowing.

"What? What about her?"

"You know that she was a doctor, right?"

"_Yeah..._" I've known that since she was cleaning up my scrapes when I was four.

"Did you also know she was known as the Princess of Konoha?"

"No. No I did not." Hag's been hiding things. _Again._

"She is the granddaughter of the _founder_ of the Konhoa Society, and was one of its jewels in political affluence. She was one of three original thinkers--Jiraiya Sannin and Orochimaru Kusinagi were the other two."

Gaara cuts in here. "Orochimaru betrayed both them _and _Namikaze to the Government in exchange for amnesty for his actions. His information was fed strait to ROOT during the riots, causing half the Society's downfall."

His fist grips the table, and I can say no more. My brain is overloading.

Namikaze was sold out--the entire Society was set up? The Government has been hiding the truth about the ROOT child's kidnapping?

What more don't I know?

It's very lucky for me that about that time, Kankuro and his band troupe on stage.

* * *

Kankuro's voice reminds me of really good liquor--smooth, rich, bitter, and delicious on the tongue. His band--the Puppeteers--is a mish-mosh of kids from Sand, school, and other places. He plays and sings lead.

They would put the Beatles to shame.

Even Itachi is riveted in place--eyes blank but fixed on Kank, and Gaara's eyes gleam with something akin to pride.

They rock out with three fast songs before introducing a new song called Vegas Dolly.

They call it a ballad.

I call it an obituary.

_I saw you last in a mirror of Las Vegas  
You tried to sooth the bruises and made it sound like salvation.  
I tried to take your needle. You said it wasn't my place.  
I want to hold on a little tighter for your sake.  
But there's nothing I can say to make you stand up._

Kankuro's eyes get angry as he plays. My mind goes back to Shikamaru and Chouji, and the new blond head that has taken the rosy-boy's place at his shoulder.

_My little dolly girl is grown up now and look at what she's been.  
A whore. A crack. A sack of waste. A Mary Magdalene... _

Does he know we can hear his sadness? His grief?

His song is less than subtle. I wonder if Temari has heard it yet? Or does she care anymore?

_Let me save you for a while more and love you for who you are.  
Let's play in sand and dirty clothes and fall asleep in cars... _

I suddenly understand the phrase, "Wearing his heart on his sleeve."

_...Cause I can't yet bring myself to let you fall apart.  
I think a little dolly girl came and stole my heart._

I stopped breathing when he hit the final chord.

"So what'd you think, bro? Still good enough to keep me here?"

They blew through their entire repertoire because the crowd wouldn't let them stop playing encores. He came strait to the table and stole my drink without a word, downing half of it like a starving man.

My eyes follow the drops of sweat on his face as they slide down his face. They look like rubies in the red strobe lights.

"The Manager will likely let me double the fee if you continue like this."

Kankuro grins, his lanky arms folded over the table as he takes a swig of my drink.

He casts me a lazy grin and I am _very_ aware of his body heat. "He kid. Long time no see. Nice that it's not behind bars."

I am incapable of anything but, "Mm."

He laughs. "Come by here any time. Tell 'em Kankuro put you on the VIP."

Again with the, "Mm."

I can't look anywhere but his face.

"Right then." He doesn't seem perturbed by my lack of eloquence and gives his brother a polite pat on the back of the chair before leaving. His calf brushes mine.

I spend the rest of the evening being silently mocked by green and dark eyes.

* * *

"So, what's it going to be—boys or girls?"

Jiriaya holds up a pair of porn movies ("Girls Gone Wild" and "Boys Gone Wild" respectively) that are supposed to be my reward for finishing the book he made me read by the due date.

I have to admit—Achebe's work is impressive, if a little difficult to relate to.

"Why are you giving me an option?"

He gives me a smug look that makes me want to hit him for treating me like a stupid child. I get that enough from other arrogant teachers, I don't need it after hours.

"I've spent enough time around people like you to know that if you are strait, you have to fall for a woman too perfect to last more than a few years before dying tragically. As I've yet to find a picture of anyone important in my searches of your apartment or your wallet, I assume you've already lost her, or you aren't interested. So I'll repeat my question—boys or girls?"

I glare at him and we stand like that until his expression changes from smug to ….something like sympathy.

"What was her name?"

I grab the gay tape with a snarl and make for the door. "Sakura. And I didn't lose her," I call over my shoulder.

I never had her to begin with.


	11. Gathering Oomph

AN: Un-beta-proofed, but that's because I couldn't wait to put this up. What the hell? I thought I was done with this thing! I sat down and typed up six pages in three hours!

You can blame this little miracle on the loving praises/ longings for more of Imperial Mint, Skittatles, and Can You Say Lazy?, each of which helped to totally guilt the creative flow back into sync. Apparently this thing had a hell of a lot more life to it than I thought.

To all Sai lovers, I use this as my apology for the Hiatus, and as pacification for the likelihood that this chapter-writing-streak may dry up yet again, so it is now on an off-again on-again Hiatus. I've got a big-ass project of my own to tackle, and I don't know if I can divert the proper energy for the plot (which is finally finished in my head).

Still, let this be a message though, that the more you ALL review and give me feedback, the better chance and reason I have to write!

Oh, and any criticism on how to make Gaara and Itachi seem more in-character would be helpful, cuz I'm lost.

* * *

Chapter 12: Gathering Oomph

My dreams over the next few weeks are dark and thick―complicated. I cannot close my eyes without replaying the scene in Kakashi's classroom or the horrors I've watched Gaara commit (and sometimes helped with). I cannot go to bed without hearing Jiraiya's challenges and pearls of wisdom ring through my ears, mingling with the echoes of Itachi's lectures.

I avoid Iruka now, not meeting his eyes, ditching his extra-credit projects in favor of Jiraiya's readings, essays, and ANBU's articles. It aches to do this, but I manage, and today, the beginning of Thanksgiving Break, I almost feel as though a burden is slowly starting to slip from my soul.

I think I'm outgrowing him.

I rise late, relishing in my sleep, listening to Kyuubi purr contently at the back of my mind. He's had quite the fill of bloodshed, because Gaara's "trial membership" still applies, and Itachi has been keeping police interference to a minimum, leaving us lots of time to "play."

It's also given me time to notice Kankuro's constant company, which makes my hackles raise in a way I'm not sure how to read, and gets Kyuubi rilled in a way I don't _want_ to read.

I make my tea and move onto my tiny balcony where I keep a battered lawn chair and a copy of my latest fixation, Mr. China Mieville. I bitched about being board with the real-world fiction the old Toad was shoving down my throat so he threw _Perdido Street Station_ at my head.

God, but reading something out of this guy's head is like taking an acid trip through Alice and Wonderland with Burgess, Poe, and _The Beatles_' lyricist.

I get about half way to half way through the book when something bright and shiny flashes out of the corner of my eye. I look up, look around, and can't find anything, so I chalk it up to a shiny car in the street below and turn back to my book.

There it is again!

This time I have to put down my book, because the bright flash plays over my eyes, and it takes both hands to avoid being _totally_ blinded. Who the hell--?

The light moves and I can open my eyes to squint at a person across the street. Who?

He's letting the sun bounce off a piece of metal or mirror or something to make a blinding reflection that feels warm in the shade of my building. He moves it over me, up and down until I wave my arms and stand to show he's got my attention. He waves back and gestures for me to come over, and now I'm curious, so I ignore my urges to flick him the finger and give him a thumbs-up instead.

What the hell? Mieville can wait.

* * *

"Good morning!" the guy says with all the propriety and cheer of Mary Poppins. I couldn't make out much before, but standing three feet away on the sidewalk in front of a café by his building I can get a good long look at my eyes' attacker. He's got a black bowl-cut that manages to look only mildly better than Lee's with the addition of a bad-ass bandanna, all black clingy clothes, and a pale smile that doesn't reach his intelligent but totally blank eyes. "My name is Mr. Sai. You are Mr. Uzumaki, yes?"

"Uh...yes?"

He cocks his head. "I don't understand. You are Naruto Uzumaki, or you aren't. Your answer should be a statement, not a question."

"Uh-huh..." What the hell is with this guy? He talks like a computer manual. He pulls out a scrap of paper and reads from it.

"Are you Naruto Uzumaki, of apartment 143 of MishimotoApartments, age 17, A-level student at Fowler High School with SAT scores of--"

"Give me that!" I snatch it from his hands. "What the hell man? Who are you?" The paper is a list of half my life's details, personal and public, right down to the color of my PJ bottom. I blush. "Where did you get this? You been watching me?"

His smile is still fixed to his face and he takes the paper back. "I assure you, Mr. Uzumaki, that how I got the information is the least of your concerns. What you should be asking, is not have I been watching you, but _why_ I would want to waste my time watching a high school student."

I huff. "Fine then―why?"

His smile gets almost sickly sweet and he passes me two business cards. "That is a discussion for another time. Today, I would simply like to give you my card, and request you pass this other one on to Mr. Sabaku and Mr. Uchiha, and have them call me at their leisure. I can assure all of you, it will be very much in your best interests."

I glance at the cards which only carry Sai's name and a number, but freeze when I flip the one for Gaara and Itachi and read the back.

It says: _Join_ _ROOT―we're always watching! _

A messy K.S. is scrawled in the corner.

ROOT―I know that word. It makes Kyuubi and I snarl.

When I look up to demand what the hell "Sai" is playing at, he's gone, and I can only gape and fume.

Oh, I am _so_calling Tsunade!

* * *

I see the old woman next when she calls to tell me of Sakura's latest attention-grabbing-gimmick. I was the only one who could get onto the roof where she'd done the deed, but I refused to tell Tsunade anything more about what she'd done than that the blades of a broken fan had been involved.

She'd just looked at me with a twisted expression and gone to fix us tea while I put Sakura to bed.

Now we sit across from each other, both tense and worried for our own reasons, but all topics seem to come back to the girl in the other room.

"Why do you let her do it?" I ask at last, considering her with a sip of tea. It's bland.

"I don't know," she says with a faraway expression. "I suppose I'm too tired to put in the effort to fix her, and that's wrong, I know. But I gave up on saving people a long time ago." She watches her face distort in the cup. "What about you? After all she's done to you--how can you still love her?"

I shrug. "Not sure I still do. Habit, I guess. I've gotten used to being good at something," I grin grimly. "And lets face it―who's better at fixing the ruined than the damaged?"

She toasts me.

"Before I forget, does the name 'Sai' mean anything to you?"

She frowns. "No. Why? Does it mean something to you?"

"Not sure yet. But he gave me this," I pass her the card, "Intending for me to pass it on to a few K.S. friends of mine. Check the back."

She flips it over and the reaction is immediate; her face goes bleach white, her eyes bulge, and a gargled scream/gasp escapes her mouth. The card is thrown away like something nasty.

"R.O.O.T.! Oh, gods―_R.O.O.T._!"

"Exactly my reaction," I say grimly. "And I have to assume they mean what they advertise―the man who gave that to me was watching me. Closely."

"Holy shit," she takes a big ol' swig of her tea, as though at the end of the Chamomile there might be some important answers. But when she finishes, the only new development is the fear scenting the room.

It's not mine.

I scrape up the card for her and she examines it closely, but the way her fingers hold it―like it could shatter, or explode at any second―belies her paranoia. I don't blame her. I buried my personal copy of the card at the bottom of my discarded work pile, nervous about keeping it, but too curious to burn the thing. After all--

"Why would a member of R.O.O.T. sign the card with a Kiss?" I ask aloud.

Tsunade shakes her head. "Probably so that the word will spread that they've been reformed. They might just be trying to scare us without going public with this. I'd guess they're also making a statement."

"Like what? Shouldn't their name cause enough panic?"

"They want us to know that they know more than we think, and the K.S. is living on borrowed time. Think about it―if they know who _one_ of us is, they can corner all of us in a second. And if they know who _one _of us is, then someone had to have told them."

"We've got a leak? Shit. I need to make some calls."

"Naruto, who did he want you to give this to? Specifically?"

"My life's not worth sharing that one. Let's just say they're big-time players in the making. Why?"

"It's just...there's another possibility...one that could turn the tide in _our_ favor, but one I wouldn't have thought possible, except you said he's looking for someone specifically, because he'd need protection--"

"Tsunade, spit it out!"

"I wonder if it's not R.O.O.T. that's got the leak?"

* * *

I tell Itachi and Gaara the news in the back ally of Gaara's favorite sweet shop. Gaara punches the wall so hard he makes the brick crumble slightly. Itachi's face tightens up until I swear he's going to have an anurism.

"Yeah, I know," is all I can say.

* * *

Spending time with Gaara means spending time with his siblings, and while I enjoy Kankuro's company (especially when he plays), Temari drives me mad. It takes a lot of effort to watch her seduce the dealers into giving discounts or free-bees without insulting her, and even more effort not to follow her into the shadows of _Club Kabuki_, her fingers laced with a blissed-out pineapple-head. He always looks high before they've even shot up―crazed on the closeness of the leggy blond woman.

Chouji has not sat with our group in a month.

Tonight is different, though. The gathering is not at _Club Kabuki_, surprisingly. Instead it's a rave held in the bowels of a crumbling warehouse at the edge of the business district. Gaara says it's to be a prelude to a much more important gathering―the first of many. Kank's band is playing the opening music, and once I told him their names, Gaara insisted I invite my friends. Said he wanted to see the "potential of those I surround myself with."

Of course they all came. Kiba thought it would be a perfect opportunity to take Hinata out somewhere public, and so Shino naturally followed. Chouji was bitter about it because Temari would be there, but Lee threw himself around as enthusiastically as possible, jumping like a manic frog with glee.

When we enter, the air is filled with sweat, fake fog, strobe lights, and a throbbing mass of bodies. Kiba grabs Hinata around the waist and hauls her into the crowd before I can say anything and Shino, Chouji, and Lee escape into the shadows and music soon after. It's fine. Gaara will find them when he feels like it.

Instead of joining, I slink around the edges, watching the flash of blue, green, and red lights bounce of the instruments on stage and make the perspiration on people's skin flicker. Kyuubi urges me to join, to jump into the primal motions like the animal he is―the animal he says _I _am too. But I just watch and clench my fists in my pockets.

"...zu..ki...!"

This is not for me―this rush of sex-charged-adrenaline and fun. I don't remember feeling my sexuality stir since I was a boy, nor have I ever understood the same fun most have relished in their whole lives.

"Mr...U...ma...!"

Suddenly, I feel very...alone...and for the first time in..._ever_, really, I feel sad for it, instead of resentful, or vengeful.

"Mr...Uzumaki...!"

Where is this coming from?

"Mr. Uzumaki!"

"Ah!" I guess I got a bit distracted, which was stupid of me, considering who was yelling my name. Sai stands before me with a fake-as-tofurkey smile on his face. Damn. I let my guard down around a member of ROOT. Not good.

"There you are, Mr. Uzumaki. How nice of you to join us in the real world. Did you enjoy your momentary zone-out?"

"Er..."

Itachi and Gaara stand behind him with Death-glares-of-supreme-doom-and-hate on their faces. They don't even try to whisper their argument out of politeness.

"I thought you said this was for invited persons only," says Itachi tersely. Well, as tersely as you can speak in monotone.

"I did. He found his own way in," Gaara sort-of-snaps.

"Why didn't your stupid thugs catch him?"

"He incapacitated the ones guarding the back. No idea how, considering there's not a mark on them."

Itachi snorts. "Pathetic."

Sai just smiles.

"I suggest we get him out of here before the main festivities--"

But Itachi is cut off before he can finish by the sound of noisemakers, hissing sparklers, and banging firecrackers, all arranged to create an artful KS on the wall behind Kankuro'sband, the lights all zooming in on the forbidden symbol. The crowd goes wild and banners with familiar but banned names (Sarutobi, Maito, Rasengan, Hokage, Sannin, Art of the Whirlpool, Bijuu, Beast Dancing, Nara, Inuzuka, ANBU, Rock, Hiraishin and so many more) unravel from the catwalk railing in brilliant reds and whites. Black ones fall too, with names like Uchiha, Kazekage, and, most prominently, ROOT.

I can feel Sai's blank eyes drilling holes into the back of my head.

The biggest banner unfurls right above the still sparkling KS to reveal a man with big blue eyes, blond hair, and a serine face dressed all in white. The smaller ones open up to read, Minato Namikaze, 1999-2019," and "RIP Revolution."

To top this all off, the crowd starts a mass worship of Namikaze's image with screams and cries of agony and ecctacy while simultaniously vandalizing the Hyuuga and ROOT banners by clawing at them and shooting masses of silly string and party booze and anything else they might have on hand at them.

_We are going to jail._

**In five sets of handcuffs and a full escort of cop cars,**Kyuubi agrees.

In unison, Itachi, Gaara, and I drag our eyes from the blatant lawbreaking to look at Sai. Its almost as if we expect him to produce an entire squad of ROOT operatives from out of his ass. But he just smiles at us.

"This is an illegal promotion of the Kohona Society, isn't it?" he says as though he were talking of the weather. I can see panic rising in Gaara's eyes as his hands flex.

"Yes, yes it is," is all I can say.

He nods slightly and sweeps his hand out before Itachi. "Continue, by all means gentlemen. I would like to see how this evening ends. Please take your places."

We all look at each other nervously, but Kankuro is already calling for the three of us to get on stage, so we cast wary looks at him and march onto the stage.

I stay as far away from the limelight as I can.

_Remind me why I followed them up here?_

**Because you wanted to see people look up at you with awe, not disgust, remember?**

_Ah._

A man with a million piercings and red hair stands at the edge of the shadows, his sun-glasses sporting strange swirls of red and black. He looks very familiar. Itachi taps the mike to create feedback that shuts the crowd up _fast._

Ow.

He says calmly, "I thank you for taking the risk of coming here tonight. As you can see, this is a party is a fairly monumental gathering, and there is a reason it was held tonight.

"Exactly seventeen years ago tonight, a great man's voice was wrongly silenced, due to the corruption and ignorance of the radical group known as ROOT--" he casts Sai a look. Ah, well; in for a penny, in for it all. "--and the biased rulings of our own government. We as Americans have stood by and watched our leaders become hypocrites and go back on the most basic freedoms allowed us by law for long enough."

The crowd roars, making up for all the enthusiasm lacking from his voice. But there is a hint in it of budding passion.

"Since the night of Namikaze's death, we have lived in shame and silence, denying the dreams we have dreamt since the Great Fall, pretending the advancements our culture has made do not mater, or did not happen. We let our children believe the lies the schools tell them, hide the remains of a once proud renaissance so that they do not suffer for knowing the truth. But no longer."

This is the first time I have heard Itachi raise his voice this loud. It sends tingles in my back.

"Tonight, we begin the rebirth of our society, and welcome the new face of change. From this night on, we will not stand in the shadows and destroy any chance we have to benefit our country. To better it. Tonight, I introduce to you the first public member of the Kohona Society as a running canidate for President of the United States. Tonight, I give you the editor of _ANBU,_ _Pain_!"

* * *

He, he...Cliffy, Baby.

AN2: By the by, if enough people like the idea, and I _actually_ put the story on _permanent _pause, I would like to host an audition for a writer who would like to take up the mantel of this story, or at least get a list of those interested, as I already have the plot planned out (to the last detail) and a few big bad climax scenes already written. If you're interested in getting your name in now, let me know in a review, so I know how many people want to see this thing continued.

I went on hiatus because this chapter did not meet my standards and neither has most of what I've written.


	12. A Helping Hand comes with Strings

While Pain goes on a rousing tangent that explains all he will do for us to seek justice on our enemies and make them suffer as we have, blah, blah, blah, we haul ass off the stage and chase as fast as we can after Sai's suddenly retreating figure. All through Itachi's introduction he was as silent as the rest of the ravers (whom I suppose must actually be secret KS members), and still as a statue. Now he's slipping through them like grease.

"Naruto! Naruto!" Out of nowhere Hinata's hand grabs my shirt, eyes wide.

"Hinata? Where's Kiba?"

She ignores that. "Naruto—did you know what this was? Did you know this was Pain's KS premiere?!" She looks frantic, and considering the state of the Hyuuga banner behind her, I can understand why.

"No, I didn't know." Her eyes relax a bit and she lets go, melting back into the crowd.

* * *

The next week, when Lee doesn't emerge from P.E., we find him behind a tree at the edge of a field where he likes to practice, half dead. His arm looks broken, his ankles are both swollen beyond normal, and the fingers are almost all dislocated, among other injuries.

"Holly shit!" Kiba spits.

"Looks like Neji found him," I say.

"We've got to get him to the nurse!" says Chouji. This sucks for him—it's his first day back with us since Temari introduced Shika to crack.

"Oh, like she could do anything for him! Besides, who would she call? He lives at a foster home for boys," says Kiba.

"Well, can't we take him to the hospital?"

"And tell them what? That he's been repeatedly beaten and abused by another kid fifty pounds lighter and four inches shorter than him because he won't hit back? Great idea—_really_."

"Let's take him to my house," I say, and my brain is too shocked at myself to stop my wagging tongue. "It's not far from here—we can get him in and you guys can get back to campus before the end of fourth."

They all look at me like I've grown a second head; I've never in all my years let any of them into my home. Not even into the building. But Lee is still bleeding freely and when I grab him under his unbroken arm they help me without comment.

* * *

"Nmf…"

"I have to reset your fingers," I tell the stirring Lee an hour later. "Try not to scream too loud."

Snap, crackle, pop. Crack, pop, snap. Pop, pop, snap, crackle, _grind_. "AHHH!"

I could make music out of this.

"Lee? Can you still hear me?"

His eyes are blurred and unfocused in his pain and I can tell he's not going to be able to stay awake through the next hand. But I know something that might be enough of a shock to his system to keep him awake—that concussion was too nasty for me to risk his sleeping again.

"We're not done yet, so put this towel in your mouth and bite down."

No arguments, no questions, just a quick grab with shaking fingers (newly well-set fingers, if I do say so myself) and eyes that plead for this to be over with _now_.

Using an experiment I thought up when I was seven, I line up his hand _just_ so and spread the fingers wide. Picking up a very large, thick, Oxford Dictionary, I give him a grimly sympathetic look. "Brace yourself."

He shuts his eyes and I slam the book down on his hand.

With five resounding CRACK!s, his hand is reset, and when I draw the towel out of his still screaming mouth, there is blood on it.

"Oh, god! Oh, god! Oh, GOD!"

"Hurts like a bitch the first time, but imagine if I'd popped them in one at a time again."

His eyes are wide open now, pupils dilated to pinpricks in the black. I don't think he's feeling the appropriate gratitude. I sigh and get up to call Tsunade. I can't set broken limbs.

"Don't fall asleep!"

* * *

"He's very lucky. His ribs are broken from top to bottom on his left side."

WHACK! goes her hand over my head. "HEY! What was that for? I'm the hero, damnit!"

"And you would have been the killer if those ribs had punctured an organ! What were you thinking by moving him?! You could have killed the boy just by holding him wrong!"

"Well, _sorry_! But we didn't exactly have many options on our hands at the time! It was our help or the hospitals and his ruined pride!"

"Pride? Pride?! Where is the pride in being left to die by someone who can't respect human life?!"

"Better he dies with his dignity intact than become as much a monster as the one who did it!"

"There's nothing dignified about death!"

"Of course there is! If you die with your head up and your eyes open, no one can deny you—even in death!"

"And it's better to die proudly than admit to anything less?! Better to be strewn in the streets with strange bodies for the sake of your stubbornness?!"

"OF COURSE IT IS! PRIDE IS ALWAYS WORTH DYING FOR!"

She stops mid-rant, both of us flushed from the yelling, eyes locked and hers shocked. There's something in there that looks like horror at my omission, and I realize it's because she's seeing her brother in me. Again.

Nawaki died in the riots of the Week of Armageddon, throwing rocks at members of ROOT and the police and flashing his Hickey proudly.

The moment is tense but then she deflates and looks away. Despite her cosmetics, she looks old and tired, yet I feel no pity.

I will not be sorry for telling the truth.Tsunade sets his bones quickly and efficiently, splinting them and ignoring me in favor of fixing the mistakes my dictionary-stunt made ("Dumbass brat! Didn't I teach you anything?") and wrapping his ribs. She tells me he can't move for a while or risk ruining the job. She hands me some antibiotics, painkillers, and his maintenance routine on a card and leaves without looking back.

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

"Why are you being so kind to me? You've never shown any of us any affection. Not in six years."

"Seven for Shino and Kiba." I dig around my back pocket for the last of a blunt we were passing around before we got worried about Lee. Light it up. He frowns, but accepts a hit off it. "Guess you just seemed pathetic enough for me to give a damn. Besides--I have bigger problems these days--yours didn't seem so unmanageable that I couldn't pitch in."

I _think_ I might be telling the truth.

Kyuubi's laughing like a maniac in the back of my head. No, scratch that--he's laughing like Heath Ledger's Joker at the end of the movie.

**You've lost our mind, brat,** he gasps through imaginary tears of hilarity. **Kiss your respectability good-bye!**

_Oh shut it, furry. If I go down you do too._

He shoots me the equivalent of a mental raspberry and I come back to reality.

"So why do you let him hurt you like this?" I ask. "I mean, come on--you either have to be a complete wuss, a pacifist, or an S&M fan to be OK with someone turning your face into tenderized steak."

His eyes get big and weapy. Sweet God, but if he cries I will hit him myself.

The waterworks are held at bay--for the most part, and he says very quietly, "Winning a battle is not the same as winning a war. I learned I could defeat him long ago. And in that way I knew I would always have the upper-hand."

"So you've been holding back all this time?" I don't try to hide the surprise in my voice. "Why? Why let him hummiliate you on top of beating your ass every day?!" I preached to Tsunade about dying for the sake of one's pride, and I still believe in that. But now I'm not so sure Lee is.

"It is above me to take joy in another's pain. But that does not stop me from feeling shame or horror when I let him win. But because he win's those battles, I win the war, and I will have so many scars at the end of this, that I don't think I will be able to be seen as the same person." He meets my eyes with a hard look--the same one I wake to in the mirror each day. "I would like to see that person. Don't you agree?"

"Yeah. I guess I can see that."

Damn, the green bean's deeper than I thought.

* * *

Because Pain is like a magnet, I am drawn to all of his meetings. I stand on the sidelines, listening, with a woman named Konan who folds perfect origami sculptures with a casual hand as though board, and a man named Nagato who wears Ozzy Osbourn glasses and smiles too much. He needs a haircut.

The meetings where Pain preaches instead of promises are held in broad daylight in cafes where the menus are framed in chains of KSKSKSKSKSKSKSKS, with ANBU representatives and the intercom voices of exiled KS members from overseas. They are joined by misfits--doctors, mechanics, teachers, gun shop owners, soccer moms, and even a few construction workers. It's strange, because most are the parents of kids from my school, who have spent their whole lives tormenting me--feeding Kyuubi's evil. These people's eyes are full of passion, knowledge and focus, as though they have been thinking the way Pain talks for their whole lives. I see them and wonder how the light in them could have escaped from their children.

Jiraiya and Tsunade attend the night gatherings--rave-like rallies that borderline riots where the young and stupid are sucked like bits of something nasty into the vortex of Pain's toilet of a mouth. And make no mistake--what he says to them is nothing short of profanity and nothing less than sacrilege to the state. The kids down what he gives them like starved dogs will swallow whatever they can rip from a carcass when they are too hungry to care that it is rotten. They flash freshly tattooed Hickies like new IDs and some--in a bizarre declaration of thier love--will mark over each other's KS with thier lips, to make it a true Hickey. Drugs and sex run ramped through it all, and I feel almost ashamed to lead my "friends" to these places.

The old crowd sits on the highest point they can find to watch and laugh at it all, their feet dangling while they drink like fish. They are the celebrity confetti that clings to everyone's mind, glittery and great in their ancient glory.

Kankuro's band plays at every gig, and I hear rumor that the Sunas have lent out Club Kabuki for Pain's more intimate meetings.

Sai, Gaara, and Itachi are in the shadows of everything, like ghosts who refuse to be exercised into the light.

Amidst the adrenalin rush, I can feel something building inside everyone, making us clutch at each others' hands a little tighter, because not even Kyuubi can tell me what we're waiting for.

* * *

I'm at Kiba's house to return tupperwear when I hear it.

"Kiba, please--send him away!"

Hinata, behind the door, with the idiot.

"But why, Hina? I thought you liked him. You guys are always talking about poetry and politics and stuff."

"I can...handle certain parts of him. But Kiba--you didn't see his face at that rally! And all these meetings are making him go crazy--I can see it in his eyes! Please, _please_Kiba--send him away before--"

But I move away from them before I can hear what she's expecting, and sit down very slowly, trying to get my bearings. So--this is what it comes to, huh? Looks like Kiba's facing a choice--his beauty or my beast.

Good. It's time I let him in on my plans for him. But _only_if he is wise enough to understand all I'm offering him--freedom, marriage, family, fame, _power_--and what it will require of the both of them.

He and Hinata seem to have it out for a while and I've moved to the swing of his back porch, overlooking the cheep dog shelter his sister keeps among their family's junkyard. Corpses of twenty-year-old hybrids and smart-cars and solar-speeders are everywhere between the hubcaps and _Back to the Future-_esq-engine designs. Most are only half finished--results of failed experiments and some of the last evidence of the greatest innovations man could have, should have made.

Everyone knows and nobody tells that the Inuzukas make the best cars in the country--totally gas-free; zero to sixty in five minutes or ten seconds, depending on the make; luxury interiors; supped Eco-friendly engines; 100% illegal, thank you very much, Mr. President.

Eventually, Kiba emerges haggard and pissed off. His face is proof that the argument ended without a winner; eyes scrunched, teeth gritted, and expression pained. Confused.

"She wants me gone." It's the truth.

"I'm sorry, Naru," He begins. "I don't know what her problem is. She was fine with you and the guys and even Shukaku's shit until just a few days ago."

Makes sense--Hyuuga's stock has taken a turn for the worse, and the pressure for her to get engaged to another company's CEO (cough, cough, _Uchiha_) would be extreme now. She's going to have to make a stand with them or us, and soon. Pain is already discussing ways to make a new roster of KS members--an untraceable, safe roster that ROOT will never be able to get their hands on. Not like the last time, he promises.

"What did you tell her?" He looks a bit confused. "I mean, either she gave you an ultimatum, or she's going to. Trust me--I know how people react to me. So what's it going to be?"

He sighs and sits at the edge of the porch, legs splayed in the sun as he rubs his throat, unsure of what to say.

"I get this feeling you want something from me. From all of us--Shika and Chouji and Lee--but me especially. And I won't lie--I don't know if I'm OK with being used like that by a...a _friend_."

That word--_friend--_spoken like a dirty word, is still honest. His face--open and vulnerable like a hopeful child--makes it so.

Huh. I admit myself surprised for the second time in so many weeks.

"You've never called me friend before," I say, trying not to sound excited. But it's hard--this was all I was denied as a child, and old dreams die hard. "Not like you've called Shino a friend."

"Aw, come on Naru!" he sounds uncomfortable and exasperated. "Shino's my buddy and my best friend but...you're just...It's like being a soldier with you--a brother in arms, you know? You've got so much charisma (once you get past the creepy-evil-look you like to show off); it would be impossible not to _want _to be friends. I mean—you eat my food man! So...yeah. We're friends. Okay? And if we're friends you have to promise to keep clean with me about whatever your evil scheming is, _at least_when it comes to me. And Hinata. Got it?"

Surprise, surprise, Kiba's asking for the one thing I will never give up--the truth. Too bad, dog breath. You shot and missed.

I make a big show of sighing and looking awkward, mentally refining what I was planning to tell him already, until my lie is flawless.

"Fine. If you really need to know, I was going to ask you..."

I spin him a tale until dusk settles over the porch.

* * *

AN: And Kiba's trap is set! Seriously though guys--what do you think of this thing? I need hard-core feedback or what's the point in keeping it up? Hell--I'll take a flaming if it's an honest, critical review. I'm trying to improve so you guys don't have to read crapy stuff. Especially since I'm working without a beta, again. By the way, next chapter (whenever it comes out) should have some kind of action stuff in it.


	13. Swinging Through the Smoke Signals

AN: Hi guys! Sorry it's been so long. No real excuses except the ones we all use part-time writters. Here's chapter...eh...13, right? The next one is all done except the action scene since I have no idea how to write it but remember--reviews inspire motivation! Hope you all like this thing.

* * *

It's always fun to learn something new about someone. Especially when that something is a secret, or extremely personal. For example--I didn't know I liked opera. Well, to be precise, I didn't know Kankuro liked _sing_ opera, and I didn't know I liked to listen to him.

*

I wasn't intending to slip into the theater that day. It was raining too hard on the way back from Jiraiya's to get home successfully, so I dashed into the nearest place I could find. Today, that happened to be the side entrance of the Firefly Theater.

The door was cracked--I didn't stop to ask why. All I knew was that heat was oozing out and I was cold.

I'd only been back here once before, when I was exploring with my seventh-grade class on a field trip, but I remembered the place I was in now. It was a tiny side room mostly used for the performers to wait for their cues. We'd been given a tour by the most beautiful ballerina I'd ever seen, and I remembered how three others slipped out the door to smoke cigarettes and talk.

That was the day I first picked up a Marlboro. I found one that still had a few puffs left in it, with a perfect impression of its smoker's mouth made in a ring of lipstick, the same color of a rose.

I stubbed it out and took it home with me, so that I could preserve that beautiful kiss.

Soaked to the bone and wary of the unrelenting downpour outside, all I wanted to do was hide in this little cubbyhole and dry off. I spread the wettest of my clothes out over the floor where they began to form puddles and tried to salvage my papers by laying them out near the heating vent in the floor.

At first I ignored what was happening on stage. I was too preoccupied with making sure my History notes survived.

But then…I heard something.

It was different from the lines and songs being rehearsed on the stage—those were easy to ignore.

This sound was too strong, too piercing, and much, much too beautiful to block out. It made chills shoot through my fingertips and set my nose hairs on end. My insides wiggled around inside of me and I could feel my pupils dilate sharply as I looked around.

Kankuro was in the spotlight, arms extended and posture strong. His mouth was open, almost slack jawed as he hit the long notes, and it was a siren's song that emerged from his great lungs. It made me think of Absinth visions and meteor showers. It brought to mind great tragedies where love dies unrequited, and setting sunlight pushing through stained glass. It made my mind run through everything bitter-sweet and wonderful and awful I have ever known, right down to the day I opened my first page of ANBU—trembling fingers, dry mouth, racing heart, desperate joy—a day that changed my life.

He saw me from the stage, peeking around the corner, and I got the sense that, from then on, he was singing to me.

When I was dry and he was finished, I walked back into the rain, my arm pressed against his under a purple umbrella, and he told me about Puccini and his tragic Butterfly.

* * *

Eventually, as must happen, Iruka catches my arm and makes me look him in the eye before I can leave the classroom.

"Naruto," he says, "What did I do?"

Looking him dead in the face, empty of anything but politeness, I answer, "Nothing, Iruka. You've done nothing wrong."

I leave without a huff, or dramatics, but the air is still thick behind me.

I did not lie to him. Iruka cannot help feeling affection, or passion, and he cannot help that Kakashi has set out to hurt me. He cannot help that something weak and young was broken when I opened that door. That is all on my shoulders, and I hold him free of all guilt. The distance between us is nothing that wouldn't have been there in a few years; Kakashi's cruelty just brought it about sooner.

When I wreck this world, I will still think of Iruka fondly, and spare him the worst of it, out of an old respect.

* * *

Sai is a bright and budding teacher's assistant in Mr. Ebisu's classes—a development that took me quite by surprise when I came in last week to find him grading my latest essay. I saw Gaara staring (not glaring) at him from his most lofty place between his siblings, and felt a little better knowing that I wasn't the only one caught off guard.

I tried to brush off how the shock had made me drop my book bag, as if I'd meant to do that.

When we cornered Sai at lunch that day, Gaara had snarled, "What are you doing here, government meat?!"

He'd only smiled and I'd slammed him into a locker, demanding an answer.

"ROOT needs recruits," he'd said, gesturing with his head to the new flier on the bulletin board, "And I, of course, live to cater to ROOT's needs."

"Funny talk from a man who frequents KS parties," I threw back.

"Tread lightly, Two-face," Gaara had said. "Our numbers grow larger with every gathering."

Sai only smiled and said, "Our numbers may be thinner, but they will be more loyal than drunken, rebellious teenagers out for some fun."

Then he pushed us off and wandered away, leaving us to stew in our uneasiness.

He had a point.

* * *

"Naruto."

I spill most of my hot tea down my front.

"Shit! Itachi--someone needs to put a bell on you!"

He smirks at me and holds up a pile of paperwork. "You're planning on going to college, correct?"

"Why do _you_ ask?"

"You haven't taken any of your tests yet. No ACT, SAT, or State Standardized tests. Why?"

"Why are you asking?" I repeat.

The smirk deepens. He tosses the papers before me. They are college applications for some of the most prestigious and forward thinking schools in the world. Most are out of the country, I note.

"To apply to any of these schools, you need your grades, your scores, and several letters of recommendation."

"No dice, man."

His smirk vanishes. "I beg your pardon?"

I dream of college—feel the tug of endless learning every time I open my mail to find a flier for another University, and long to drown myself in the greater knowledge that begs to be known. But the thing is…

"Kyuubi doesn't belong in a classroom full of books and thirsty minds. He belongs in a cage, and I'm required to give him that, until his time—_our_ time—comes."

* * *

We should see these things coming, but it's hard to look past one's own rage and hatred.

It's just after Christmas break when the tensions between ROOT supporters and baby KS members erupt. Until today, we didn't know what sort of numbers we were looking at on either side—it's not as if you can take a head-count of a society that's seen as a terrorist group, and the Government keeps its budding ROOT operatives well hidden.

It happened just a few blocks from school at a pizza place patroned by both the popular and the outcasts. They have—sorry_, had_—good pepperoni.

It started out simple—a couple of ROOT kids were chilling at one of the back tables when a group of K.S. members came in, flashing rainbows and discussing some book called _Heather has Two Mommies._ They didn't notice the ROOTs and so didn't bother to sensor their discussion, which then turned to Pain's rallies—a sore spot for any budding Government dog.

The ROOTs got curious and pissed off and decided to "remove" the KS guys.

Bad, bad, bad idea.

Insults were thrown around until fists made their entrance. Then someone started hitting someone else with a chair, and things got pretty violent after that. People in the shop and outside got involved, recognizing a battle when they see one, and soon enough bodies were flying through windows, people were being run over with cars, stuffed in garbage cans, and beaten with anything hard and metallic. There were casualties on both sides, since not everyone who was in the shop _wanted_ to start fighting, but I heard that it took the cops three hours, to break up the street brawl.

Fifty-six people got arrested that day, and now, tree days later, Itachi and Kisame are coming back to Pain's café to report just how many of them work for us.

"Twenty-nine potential 20/20s. All were tattooed with a Kiss prior to the skirmish. The numbers were in our favor."

Pain nods, pleased. "What charges are they facing?"

"Every one of them has Assault and Rebellion pending on their records. Unless they can pay bail, they will all have to answer to a judge and then," Itachi shrugs, "Who knows?"

Pain stands, and the other two follow. "I will go there and interview them. I will free those who are truly dedicated to the cause, as an example to ROOT of the strength of our numbers."

There is a murmur of impressed voices and nervous comments. How does Pain expect to pay the bail for twenty-nine people? I know politicians are usually loaded, but one of the founding principals of the Konoha Society was that those with the most power must have little of anything else—especially cash.

The Pain and his lackies sweep from the café in an impressive display of confidence, concluding the meeting.

I'm about to leave when I see Shikamaru, and Chouji's fathers talking with a man with a strange rag handing down from his turban to hid half his face. Baki, from Gaara's gang, I think. They all look pissed off, and I inch closer to listen in.

"Exactly how many drugs is that little bitch on?" says Chouji's father. I'm taken aback by the harshness in his voice—I've never heard any of the Akamachi's swear.

The man—Baki, I think, who carried the bleach on my first run with Gaara's gang—just shakes his head.

"Temari is not my concern—Gaara is. If your sons have a problem with her you'd better handle it through them, not me."

" Mr. Baki," Shikaku starts, eyes tired but voice soothing, "What we're concerned with is her influence on those around her. She's promiscuous and volatile. Shouldn't you be a little more involved with her activities? You _are_ her legal guardian."

Baki just shakes his head. "I have had nothing to do with that girl's behavior. She acts alone and takes those repercussions with her. Your son is simply in love with her. It will pass, if he survives it."

Chouza snarls through gritted teeth and makes a lunging movement at Baki. "You Fucker!"

Shikaku just sighs and puts a calming hand on his friend's shoulder.

This all seems very backward to me. Why is Chouji's father angry, when it's Shikaku's son that's up to his neck in powder and needles?

**Shikaku isn't the one who's son suffers. Or have you not noticed that? **Kyuubi whispers.

I take a moment to consider that, try to look at it from Chouza's angle.

There is a deep resignation in the Nara father's face, as though he has recognized the loss of his child and come to terms with it long ago. But Chouza's rage is bleeding out from a parent's heartache as he watches his child grieve for the first time.

**You understand it then?**

_Yes._

This thing between Temari and Shika is only quickening the poison in him. I have known for years that he would die at the hands of a lazy addiction. What I didn't realize was how deeply it was wounding his friend.

It feels like we are all being sucked into a Bermuda Triangle—Temari and Shikamaru, and Chouji at the corners, while the rest of us try not to disappear in the middle.

* * *

There is a school play on Tuesday, and I find myself too tired to deal with the tension that revolves around our little group in the ShikaTemaChou tangle that makes it awkward to talk. Instead, I sneak into the auditorium through an exit that the janitor never remembers to lock and eat my lunch at the desk prop in the center of the stage.

I think the play is called _Doubt_ or something.

Eventually, I give into the nicotine cravings that have been bugging me since I woke up and break out a bent pack of American Spirits, just to see if anyone will care enough to track me down when they review the security cameras later.

I spend about ten minutes rocking in the chair, smoking, watching the whirring red lights that provide the tech crews with amusement when freshmen come here to make out at free periods.

I consider it an accomplishment that I only tip my chair over twice.

"Naruto."

I freeze, wary of the pink silhouette in the corner of my eye.

"Sakura." I let her hear my surprise.

She saunters--literally _saunters_ to my side, cat-ate-the-canary smile making goose bumps break out up my arms.

What the fuck is she doing here?

"No Sasuke?" I ask, not making eye contact even as she lays herself out on the desk like a meal. It strikes me that we would make an interesting scene in a play--at the center of the stage, spotlights still on for the next rehearsal.

She stretches like a cat, making her half-exposed breasts obvious, though I can't see past the way her ribs stand out. "He's out with Neji talking crap. Probably planning your demise."

_Maybe a soap opera. Or a Dramady? Yeah. My life feels like a dramatic-comedy lately..._

I think the conductor of my train of thought is on break.

"Ino?"

"With them, or out fucking someone for petty cash."

"And she didn't think to bring you? How inconsiderate."

She ignores me and steals my cigarette, trying to pass off a mouthful of smoke as actual inhalation, but I can see her trying not to turn green.

"Hey, Naruto?" Her voice is full of a childish hope that sounds like poison. She turns on her side, head propped on her hand like a lover wanting pillow talk, and I tilt myself backwards again.

I pull out another stick and light it, carefully to ignore her pleading green eyes.

"Hmm?"

"Would you like to fuck me? Right here, right now?"

I think I deserve a reward for not choking on my own smoke. Some applause maybe.

I snap shut the lid of my Zippo (a gift from Tsunade) and meet her eyes with a dull expression.

"No, Sakura. No I would not."

She pouts and sticks her tongue out at me.

"I don't believe you."

I close my eyes and tilt my head back, keeping both feet on the ground when I hear her move off the desk.

I don't trust myself not to fall.

She straddles me, her perfume thickening the air like silicone thickening a bust line and I watch her make a fool of herself, wondering when she'll remember the security cameras that watch for just this sort of behavior.

She nibbles my neck and we wait together for the pull in my loins.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Nothing.

I laugh and she pushes her pelvis against mine, agitated.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Nada.

Her tongue curls in the shell of my ear.

Nope. Zilch. Zero.

She humps my lap like a dog in heat and all I can do is laugh through a hysterical grin, amazed as she is shocked by my lack of interest.

Her breath grazes my neck as she searches for something--_anything--_that might give her back her power over me. Unbidden, the image of Kankuro's guitar neck swinging through strobe lights passes by me and (_finally) _I grit my teeth and groan.

She misinterprets this as her doing, and chuckles sadistically. A repulsion I've reserved for the weakest of people rolls through me and I shove her off my lap, feeling little remorse as she crumples in a heap like a used rag.

Skirt hiked, breasts falling everywhere, and make-up overdone in the stage lights, she looks like a whore who's been cheated of pay by her first John.

_How did I ever bring myself to love her?_ I wonder. To think there was a time when I would have embraced this wretch with forgiving adoration; I must have been very weak not to see this in her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" she snarls, and I lean back in my chair, proud that she is below me at last. "I'm giving you what you want!"

_Little too late, babe._

"You're not what I want anymore."

She huffs, pride in tatters at her feet, and stands, trying to straiten her hair and pushing her breasts back into the harness of her bra.

I take a drag from the cigarette, deliberately taunting the tech teachers who will see this later.

"Go back to your bastard, bitch. I've got nothing left for you."


End file.
